


Can’t Shake The Devil’s Hand And Say You’re Only Kidding

by charliemanson



Category: Rick and Morty, c137cest - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Catholicism, Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, NSFW, Religion, Self Harm, Slow Burn, Underage - Freeform, broh devil rick abt to fuck up alter boy morty’s life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2020-10-06 12:57:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20507378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charliemanson/pseuds/charliemanson
Summary: Morty’s an alter boy. He does well in school, he worships God, he obeys his parents, he’s the epitome of a perfect child. His father Jerry, a priest, treats him badly behind closed doors. Having enough of the abuse, Morty prays to anyone listening for someone to rescue him, but he doesn’t expect the Devil to answer his pleas.





	1. Heru Ra Ha

_ Crucem lacrimosa, _

_ dum pendebat Filius. _

_ Cuius animam gementem, _

_ contristatam et dolentem _

_ pertransivit gladius. _

_ O quam tristis et afflicta fuit illa benedicta, mater Unigeniti! _

Morty’s been put down for way too long. 

He’s been called the equivalent of a beast of burden. Useful for a while, but in the end, always put down for one reason or another. Only an added plus to his master until the deed is done, then cast aside like cheap lots, the bet bargaining which knife will be used to slice his throat. Although he fails to realize who’s betting for him, but at this point, does it matter?

The God he worships, and the Father of Lies. 

Amounting next to nothing, the stained glass above his bowed head holds more meaning than his precious human life. The colors represent the soul, the purpose we see through rare waves of shining light on the dusty floor of a cathedral. 

Once in a while, when the lighting is right, and when it’s quiet enough, and when we feel a certain way, we’ll have an epiphany. A calling, we may not hear it, but we _ feel _ it. Seeing isn’t always believing, that’s what Morty told himself.

When the sun peeks through, it casts marvelous shadows across his tanned cheeks. He sees the saints above him, painted on the ceiling, praying for _ him._ They cast their glow, prompted by the beams, the holy light that’s inside of me. 

The light drives out the darkness, a tale as old as time. But growing older, he’s seen that cheap, painted glass holds more value than his tender, timeless, loving soul.

He’s waited for his epiphany. He’s been told he’ll know the feeling, he’ll know his purpose, maybe he’ll even hear a voice. He’s sat at the same pew all of his life, next to the windows and the stained glass, waiting, watching.

But...there’s nothing.

It’s human nature to doubt. To have thoughts woven with disbelief, to question higher forces. So in these periods of doubt, he’d pray and fast for hours, days. However long it took to regain his faith. He’d inflict injuries on himself, offering his pain as a token against his questioning of the divine. 

The wafers and wine fill his empty belly, they keep his courage. Melding to his aching facade, the belief lies in the body that he’s eating. We become one with our creator through a simple ritual. It spreads through his small frame, rejuvenating his body, replacing his facial features with the face of a god. He shows the Christ Child in his words, they see him, and they see Yahweh. 

The Holy Spirit makes It’s bed in every child’s heart. It’s made It’s home inside of Morty’s, and he’s been prone to beg quite often for It to rise. 

He’s been told he’ll never amount to anything until he spills his unholy blood. The cat of nine tails, ripping the sins from his back, leaving glass and broken rocks. Despite all the mindless things, his soul begins to sing and it says:

Let my Father drain this dirty blood

Let my Mother teach me her grace 

Let my Sisters wash my bloody wrists 

Let my Brothers heal my broken faith

The Job of my age 

Take it all

O, damn it all 

Give me a reason to enjoy the sun

This tattered heart that’s inside of me 

This battered soul won’t let up my purpose 

Let my prayer be no avant-garde 

Break my leg like the lost lamb, keeping me from straying once again.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,

Forever and always,

Amen.

Morty would repeat this mantra in his mind, water and salt seeping past his clammy skin as he’d take the pointed crucifix, digging the nail into his palm. It drew blood, the red spilling past his fingers, to his floor. His father, watching behind his back, but his Beloved Father, where was he?

Where was God?

Jerry gently coaxed him to push the nail deeper, smiling softly as he hears the cries of his son. Morty sobbed, his small fingers shaking as his faith was as weak as his frame. 

“F-Father...I…’m n-not strong en-enough.” The boy wailed, holy water gushing down sweat covered cheeks. 

“This is something you have to do yourself, son. I can’t do it for you.”

Jerry placed his hand on Morty’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

“A little deeper...deeper...yes...good.” The man beamed as Morty screamed in purifying pain, his body trembling so violently he dropped to his knees, the pointed crucifix falling past his twitching hand.

Jerry sighed. It wasn’t a petulant sigh, just one of disappointment. 

“God looks down on you, not with pity, son, but with disdain. You’ve failed Him once again.”

Jerry looked down at Morty, face neutral as his son pitifully looked up at him.

“God gives us many chances, but if you keep failing Him like this…” 

“I-I can k-keep going!” Morty sobbed, but Jerry shook his head.

“Forget it.” He spat, voice changing. “Go get cleaned up, your bedtime is in half an hour.” The man sneered, exiting the boy’s room, slamming the door shut.

Morty curled up in a ball, lying on the floor as he wept. Why wasn’t he good enough? Why wasn’t he _ strong _ enough? He couldn’t even hurt himself right. What a fuck up he is.

And his father, damn him. Damn him to hell for all of this. Morty missed two questions on his test, and he had to repay with _ this? _

Jerry was a priest, he had a reputation to maintain, Morty understood this. But...isn’t God supposed to be...loving?

_ “Pray for better grades, or else you’re getting 10 lashes tonight with my belt you little shit.” _

He was quaking with grief, the boy sobbing into his bloody hands. He hated him! Oh, he hated him.

He hated all of this. So Morty found himself praying.

_I hate my Father! _

_ And I’m not even sure which one I’m talking about! _

_ If anyone’s listening _

_ If anyone’s out there _

_ Please _

_ Please _

_ I’ll do anything _

_Just come and rescue me_

_ Help me _

_ I need help _

_ I can’t do this _

_ I want to die _

_ I’m just a kid _

_ And I don’t know what to do _

_ Please...someone…. _

Morty prayed until he dozed off on the floor. Unbeknownst to him, someone in particular was listening. Someone he’d never imagine. 

…

…..

……..

_ Scale covered eyes and skin that rejects touch _

_ A chronic decline that you’ve willingly subjected yourself to _

_ You stumble and fall when you should run _

_ You have your father’s cadence but your mother's disbelief _

_ Are you worth any reassurance? _

_ Are you able to reassemble? _

_ You’re casting lots with a serpent _

_ Forked tongue oozing in honey and in blood _

_I drown the buzzing bees with my sweet venom_

_ I strike without a purpose _

_ I’ll heal your hands with my tenderness _

_Our lips together will taste like church wine and rose petals _

_My sweetest friend and my most precious love_

_ Wake up now, we have much to talk about _

Morty’s eyes slowly fluttered open to the sound of quiet humming. He moaned softly, not realizing there were fingers stroking his hair until the movement stopped. He blinked a couple times, vision hazy as his room was now dimmed.

The boy closed his eyes again, whining softly as he nuzzled his cheek against a foreign chest. Morty heard a low chuckle as long, thin fingers threaded back into his messy hair. 

It took a moment before he realized that this was...not normal. Morty’s eyes snapped open, the kid’s breath stuttering as his head shot up from the shoulder of a stranger. He was gasping, eyes wide as he looked around, his gaze locking onto the unknown man in front of him. 

“W-W-Who?!” He squeaked as he quickly crawled backwards.

The man only smiled, revealing his abnormally long, sharp canines. Morty’s delicate frame was trembling, the boy eyeing up the stranger with apprehension.

He had wild, fiery red hair, as well as corpse pale skin. He was dressed in a priest's attire, and his build was thin, lanky. The kid’s vision became blurry with tears manifested from guilt, his body and breath shuddering as he beheld the man in front of him.

“Mortimer, is it?” The demon had a low, almost guttural sounding voice. 

“M-Morty.” The child breathed shakily, the stranger laughing lowly as his jet black eyed glittered in delight. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to finally wake up.” The figure stood, stretching as he sighed.

He offered a hand to the frightened kid, who shook his head violently and whimpered.

“Awh, c’mon now.” He cooed softly, hand still offered towards Morty. “I’ve cleaned you all up and gave you gentle dreams, and you won’t even take my hand?”

Morty looked down, his hands trembling, but they were without blood. He sniffled, turning them over, marveling as his wounds were healed.

Despite his fear, Morty wasn’t stupid, he knew what the creature was in front of him. He had...summoned a demon. 

_ Jesus Christ _

The boy was hoping that a saint was listening, a spirit of good faith. But no...his prayers were answered by a devil.

Just his luck.

He was about to cross himself and beg God to take this man away, but then he saw his father. He saw his enemy in the reflection of the demon looking down at him, much like Jerry often did. But this man...he seemed caring enough. 

Was he falling?

He could never, he could never.

Morty would just talk to him, tell him to leave, ward him off with his rosary he wore every day and every night.

He looked up, his plush lips pressed in a thin line. 

_ “To hell with it.” _ The kid thought, tentatively reaching up to accept the man’s offer.

The stranger gently hauled him up, Morty stumbling a little as his legs gave out. He was quickly caught by the man, who held him close.

“Ah, be careful.” He murmured, stroking Morty’s hair.

The boy looked up at him, realizing their height differences. He came up to the devil’s chest, which made him way more intimidating.

“Wh-Wh-What’s your name?” Morty squeaked out the question, his voice wavering.

“You can call me Rick.” The old man knelt down, gently gripping Morty’s arm with one hand as his other hand cupped the child’s cheek.

Rick rubbed gentle circles on the skin, cooing softly as Morty shivered, shining tears oozing onto the old man’s abnormally warm hand. The demon whispered something to Morty as he held him gently, something that make his knees knock and his heart thump wildly.

_ “We have work to do.” _


	2. Let There Be Might

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys :] sorry that the chapters seemed to mess up, this wasn’t a one shot. in fact, i have no idea how long this fic will be lol. i hope y’all enjoyed it! please leave comments and kudos! <3

* * *

_ Quae maerebat et dolebat, _

_ pia Mater, dum videbat _

_ nati poenas inclyti. _

_ Quis est homo qui non fleret, _

_ matrem Christi si videret _

_ in tanto supplicio? _

_ Quis non posset contristari _

_ Christi Matrem contemplari _

_ dolentem cum Filio? _

Holy water is made through words and worth within the womb that cradles an unborn child. Encouraging coos or surreptitious slurs consulting with a serpent determine what lives we’ll lead. A couple inches of flesh between us and the world, of course we hear every fight from the people who are supposed to love us the most. And when we’re born, we cry. We scream and sob, releasing the water that’s inside of us. Nothing is more precious than new human life, and through the process of surviving childbirth, we gain our souls. It’s a token telling us, “congratulations, and welcome to the world.”

A child without sins, how holy. Purified salt in our tears, how divine.

But we weep our mother's tears, as we’re all connected in the universe, but somehow still ourselves. We’re all complete on our own-

**You don’t need them.**

It’s in our nature to repress bad memories. It’s debatable if humans are born evil, and without God and His Holy Ghost inside of us, **you’re all dirtier than filthy rags.**

Does a putrid sinner have any worth? **Of course. Only in the currency of souls, though. **

The soul is clean, untouched in this hypothesis. We detach it from ourselves, but it’s our cleanliness and purpose inside _ all of us_.

It sleeps beneath the surface of the skin suit we wear. **The human facade you develop. **We are spirits of our own in equally unique ways. Every emotion you feel is yours, and yours alone.

We are, unique.

A god in our own rights. Every memory, nostalgic moment, every reaction, it belongs to you.

No one is you.

And yet, we are one, we are all, we’re what makes up the lovely universe. 

**But if everyone is unique, that makes us all the same. Therefore, it’s invalid by nature.**

We’re all brothers and sisters, we’re the body, as priests say. The feet, the hands, the heart, the head, the eyes, all working together. All glorious in our own ways. **But people can be self destructive. There’s wounds on the hands, nails in the feet, scales that cover the eyes, doubts that cloud the mind. The heart is aching from the burdens you carry, and there’s blisters on the skin, covering the breaking bones.**

We are holy, holy, holy.

**We are evil in nature. **

…

…..

Morty’s eyes were glazed over as he sat on his bed. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, wincing slightly as he groaned.

“Something...hurts.” He mumbled, rubbing his temples. “It’s like, when you touched me, something inside me just…”

“Obviously you’re in shock.” Rick patted Morty’s head, who was too exhausted to jerk away from the action.

But it was already too late. The tainted hands that tenderly caressed the child’s cheeks were the same fingers who grasped onto his heart with a vice grip. Morty’s inner world was touched with corruption, his good nature starting to question itself, to contradict itself. Being human, of course he couldn’t see this yet. 

Naivety makes the man sleep better at night, which can explain why Rick needs no rest. 

“S-So...uh...what do I uhm...do w-w-w-with you?” Morty looked up at him nervously, biting his bottom lip gently.

“I answered your prayer, you called me to you. And I came. I’m here. We’re going to kill your father.” He answered simply.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Morty squeaked, his fingers intertwining with his hair as his eyes were cranked open wide with horror.

“We’re-We’re not doing that!” He yelled, Rick quickly pressing a finger to the boy’s plush lips.

“Shh, baby, they’ll hear you.”

Morty really couldn’t say why his face flushed, the boy squirming in place slightly as his cheeks were dusted a pretty pink. Rick grinned, flicking Morty’s nose, earning a shocked squeak. 

“So what do you suggest we do?” The demon questioned sweetly, kneeling down so he came face to face with the kid.

“Uhm...can we...curse him?” Morty asked tentatively, wringing his hands nervously. 

“Now we’re talkin’! What are you thinking? Bloody boils? Rotting teeth? Blindness? Hallucinations? Paranoia and strife between loved ones?”

“O-Oh, I was thinking just…bad luck?”

“And what’s your idea of bad luck?” Rick sighed, checking his nails, slightly disappointed by the lack of imagination.

“I haven’t...really thought about it. Uhm like...people seeing what a jerk he really is?”

“Exposure.” Rick pondered, tapping his bottom lip with his index finger. “That’s a good one. A real good one. Okay. Let’s do it.”

Morty felt something eating inside of him, quite literally. He felt like there were fangs gnawing on his lungs, and long, boney fingers squeezing his intestines. He felt fingerprints manifest on his sternum, pressing down painfully on his chest. His ribs felt freezing cold, despite the demon having an oddly warm aura. This was wrong. It felt wrong. He shouldn’t be doing this, he couldn’t. It was against his morals. His soul warned him to stop, but his yearning and disdain towards his father clouded his logical thoughts.

There was blood sloshing around in his starved belly. But it wasn’t Christ’s blood he consumed at communion, it was dirty blood bestowed upon him by the devil. His cup ran over with it, chaotic red spilling haphazardly on his lap, congealing on his pants. It stuck to his skin, seeping inside of him. The dirty blood was infecting him, like a subtle poison. 

He just couldn’t see it yet.

“So do we uh, shake on it?” Morty stuck out a shaking hand, making Rick laugh.

The devil took it gently, pressing his lips against Morty’s knuckles. This made Morty’s cheeks manifest a strawberry red color as his long eyelashes batted quickly. His breath stuttered, and he knew he should retract his hand, but he couldn’t.

It would be so easy to, Rick had a delicate grip on it. It was like their situation, Morty could pull away at any time. It’s not like the devil had locked the door on him. He was a gentleman, he’d leave if told to.

“No, sweetie. We kiss.” He softly pressed his lips against Morty’s knuckles again, and this finally made him jerk his hand back.

“I-I- uhm..!” His voice wavered nervously, the boy squirming in his place. 

“You’ve never kissed anyone before, I can tell.” Rick smiled at him coyly.

“H-How?” Morty felt oddly defiant now. “I could kiss girls all the time!”

“My special powers are knowing when someone’s lying.” Rick flicked Morty’s nose again, the child batting away his hand in irritation.

“If- _ When,_ you kiss me, we’ll get started.”

“Th-That’s very presumptuous of you.” Morty glared, crossing his arms. “And what’s this “we”? I thought you could...I dunno...do it yourself. Are you lazy or something?”

Rick glared at him, making the kid’s flushed face pale.

“Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?” His voice lowered, the old man noticing how Morty was trembling now.

The boy opened his mouth to say something, then nervously closed it, gulping.

Rick suddenly broke his facade and smiled, ruffling Morty’s hair.

“Defiance is cute on you.” He winked. “But no, I need your help. You’re a big part in this!”

Morty huffed quietly, confused by all these conflicting emotions and actions. 

“Morty, will you kiss me?” 

_ “Uh, yes? Obviously.” _

The boy brushed away the foreign thought, blushing wildly at how straightforward it was. He was a good boy, and he wanted to save his first kiss for someone special, not the god damn devil.

He was confused as Rick started laughing quietly.

“What?” He asked nervously.

“You know I can read thoughts, right?”

“Oh.” Morty breathed shakily, closing his eyes and grimacing. “That’s uh, that’s embarrassing.”

“It’s cute.” Rick pinched his cheek, Morty jerking his head back, glaring at him.

“So, what do you say? Shall we get started?” He offered, black eyes glittering in anticipation. 

“Uhm! I’m not...not betting my soul or something…?”

Rick snorted as he shook his head.

“No, no. That would be ridiculous. That only happens if you make...really big contracts. Like being a millionaire, being famous, stuff like that. Our little..._ arrangement _ here, it’ll take no time or energy. I don’t require offerings for it.”

Rick surreptitiously refused to use the term “deal” as it seemed like a complete binding contract.

“Offerings are used for energy. Big things like I mentioned earlier require those, a big sacrifice. That’s where people’s souls come in. What you’re asking here? Easy peasy.”

“Oh…” Morty nodded slowly in understanding..

“Okay...let’s do this.” He mumbled nervously.

“Relax, baby. It’ll be fine. Kissing has been used to- they’ve been used as a symbol of agreement for years and years.” He smiled. 

Morty squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing slightly.

“Relax, sweetie.” 

The boy shuddered as he could feel Rick’s warm breath on his face. He tried to relax his shoulders, unclench his fists, drop his uptight chest. He almost tightened his muscles again as he felt the demon cup his cheeks.

“Ready?” Rick asked, Morty nodding in anticipation.

The devil leaned in slowly, gently connecting his lips with the boy’s soft ones. Morty’s small frame was trembling, the kid noting how gentle and sweet he felt. It wasn’t rough and... gross like he expected, it was delicate and tender. He didn’t expect the demon’s lips to feel so soft and just, nice.

After a long moment, Rick pulled away, earning a quiet whine from Morty. The boy was more shocked than the devil at the noise he just emitted, Morty covering his face in his hands as Rick laughed.

“Was it a nice first kiss?” He asked, snorting softly in amusement as the child nodded a little.

“Maybe we’ll get to do it sometime again, hm?”

“Hrmmn.” Morty mumbled, his small hands sliding down his face. 

“Welp.” Rick stood up, offering his hand to Morty, who took it without hesitation this time.

“Let’s do this, hm?”


	3. Eris

_ Pro peccatis suae gentis _

_ vidit Iesum in tormentis, _

_ et flagellis subditum._

_ Vidit suum dulcem Natum _

_ moriendo desolatum, _

_ dum emisit spiritum._

_ Eia, Mater, fons amoris _

_ me sentire vim doloris _

_ fac, ut tecum lugeam._

Let it be known that this is the beginning of his downfall. 

His good graces that were seldom there to begin with are wiped away clean and replaced with filth. The rag doused in blood from boney and brittle, childlike hands soak up and spread disease. Doubt, death, illness, misfortune. The tainted crucifix feeds on pain, disorder, chaos, delusion, hunger, greed and strife.

Eris. Asmodai. Beelzebub. Harborym. Behemoth. Leviathan. 

The lights are on and he can’t see.

The shadow is at his disposal but he wants to play the game.

He’s tentative in his grasp, reaching for the apple.

His tongue intertwines with the serpent’s.

And he will write. And he will purify. And he will sing. And he will love. And he will cut. And he will fall. And he will die.

And then he will be remade again in his era of separation. 

Adonai Elohim.

Morty was born to rise from the depths, but struggling with each devil. One faceless deity on a sinners side against a coven of plagues and demons. 

The only face he can see is his own, and he studies it in the bathroom mirror occasionally. Some spots of acne, some crooked teeth, a twitching mouth. But look a little closer. Stare a bit longer. Behold the faceless god, and he is faceless.

Come eye to eye with your reflection. Blink quickly, twitch your mouth. Flare your nostrils, the boy in the mirror can’t keep up. Poke at it, search its eyes and g

_ GOD I CAN'T DO THIS? IS NOTHING ABOUT ME UNIQUE? CAN I NOT DESCRIBE MYSELF? CAN ANYONE UNDERSTAND? I TELL THEM WHAT I’M FEELING BUT _ ** _DO THEY UNDERSTAND?_ **

_ I’M TEARING MY HAIR OUT AND EATING IT BEFORE THE LICE CAN. EVERY TIME I CRY I BOTTLE THE TEARS AND MIX THEM WITH BLUE PAINT. I COLLECT MY BLISTERS AND HIDE THEM UNDER MY DAD’S PILLOW. _

_ AND THIS ONLY MAKES SENSE TO ME _

_ HOW DOES IT FEEL? _

_ HOW DOES IT FEEL! TO NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT I’M SAYING? _

_ I KNOW WHAT I’M SAYING _

_ EVERYONE THINKS THEY KNOW ME _

_ AND THAT’S THE TRICK! _

_ THEY’LL NEVER KNOW _

_ THEY LOOK OUTSIDE THE WINDOW _

_ AND WONDER BECAUSE I’M NOT THERE _

_ HEAVEN HERE ME _

_ LET ME OUT _

_ LET ME BE UNDERSTOOD _

_ I DON’T MAKE SENSE! _

_ WHAT I’M SAYING _ ** _NOW_ ** _ DOESN’T MAKE SENSE! _

_ I WILL GO UNTIL THE SHOES ERODE BENEATH ME _

_ LET ME OUT _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


no

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


** _HAVE FUN PRAYING TO YOUR GREAT GOD NOW_ **

He backs away from the mirror, refusing to face himself. Windows lead to the soul, as do the eyes. But god, I’ve written about glass too much, I’ve seen the reflection in my tears once again. I’m tired. What’s the point in creating something beautiful only for it to be misinterpreted. What’s the point in explaining through writing or singing when no one can understand.

We are, unique.

  
  
  
  


We are...alone.

The devil showed him only one card out of a fold. He makes a point to be powerful when he speaks. He commands his legion with an iron fist, and he’s the one who gives us nightmares when we sleep. He spits in our holy water and convinces us it means nothing. That it’s just tap water that’s been prayed over in a half assed way by men who touch little boys in places they shouldn’t.

Oh no…

He’s doing this again…

...Footsteps 

  
  
  


_ Come _

  
  


Okay…

Here I come…

  
  


Self awareness. Grasping not at straws, but at poisonous thoughts. There’s a lot that goes on inside his mind. Didn’t you see? Just now. You saw, right?

Right?

_ Right? _

_ Morty _

A snap of the fingers.

_ Morty? _

  
  


“Hm?” The boy’s glazed over eyes brightened up once again. 

“You were lost in thought.” Rick murmured, almost looking a tad concerned.

“Was I?”

The devil nodded.

“What were you thinking about?”

Morty paused for a moment, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Nothing.”

Rick nodded, squinting as he looked out the window. The sun was rising, its beams making an effort to bust in haphazardly through Morty’s blinds. He shuddered, earning the boy’s attention.

“Gives me the creeps.” Rick muttered to himself, turning back to Morty.

“What does?”

“The sun.”

Morty smiled, an amused puff of air exiting through his nostrils.

“What?” Rick asked, crossing his arms.

“Are you like...a vampire? You can’t go out in the sun? Will you get hurt and like...die…?”

The devil sighed and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No. No, that’s not what happens.” He replied blandly, irritated.

“It’s just…” He shrugged, crossing his arms again. “Not my element.”

What he wouldn’t tell Morty is that his power was weaker in the day time, as he was a night demon by nature. The kid didn’t have to know that for multiple reasons.

Stupidity and humans tend to coincide, and Rick saw that as the child didn’t question it, he just nodded his head.

Good.

This one wasn’t too curious. 

He seemed obedient, tentative...perhaps even cowardly at times. Oh well. 

“I uh...I-I have to go to school.” Morty mumbled awkwardly. “Usually I’d be waking up right about now.”

Rick just nodded, now he was the one lost in thought.

“Uh...so...is this it, then?” Morty questioned softly, nervously picking at his nails.

“...Depends if you’re happy about the outcome.” Rick replied, more alert now. “I’ll swing by and see how things are from time to time.” 

Morty just nodded. He kept glancing nervously at the door, Rick assuming he was expecting someone to come it at any time.

“No one can see me but you, by the way.” He mentioned offhandedly, checking his nails.

“No need to worry so much.”

“O-Okay.” Morty breathed, closing his eyes. “I guess I’ll get dressed now.”

He looked at Rick, then at the door, a silent “please go away”. But Rick just smirked, eyes half lidded as he tilted his head.

“What? Are you embarrassed to get undressed in front of me?”

Morty felt his cheeks heat up, the boy looking down at the ground to avoid eye contact with the demon.

“_No. _ I just...it’s just…”

“Well, if you’re not embarrassed, then go ahead.” The old man said with a coy cadence. 

Morty just stared down at his feet, fingers twitching at his sides.

“I-I’d really r-rather not, if that’s okay.” He muttered quietly, not necessarily embarrassed, but more...dark. Dreary, maybe even sad in a way.

Seeing this, Rick let up. He nodded, smirking slightly as he made for the door.

“I’ll see you around, hm?”

“Y-Yes. Yeah. Mhm.”

“God be with ye.” Rick said in a facetious tone as he vanished.

He wasn’t through with him yet. And this simple part was the beginning of a master plan. It’s easier to put thoughts into a humans head rather than take them out, he sees that in their nature. Rick sees how people are constantly dwelling on things they wish they could just make go away.

Influence works best when the human is unaware of it. And it’s all too easy as they’re all so gullible.

And whispering sly words into an ear of a woman who cheats on her husband is easy. And prompting aggressive action towards a man who beats his girlfriend is easy. And convincing a suicidal kid who just wants everything to end is easy. And coaxing a girlfriend to rape her submissive boyfriend is easy. And suggesting sweetly to a thief to steal from the rich _ and _ the poor is easy.

And convincing a shy alter boy to kill his father and hand over his soul is easy.

God, Morty had the sweetest soul he ever did see. It shimmered like golden coins meeting a heat wave. It reeked of innocence with no trait of vanity. It’s soft colors and tender purpose gave it an intoxicating aroma, and soon enough, it would belong to him. He had no need for the boy’s human vessel, just his everlasting soul.

Oh _ my. _Being in possession of something so precious, it made his palms clammy and his heart swell. That’s how he knew it was worth it. The devil felt nothing but greed, lust, annoyance. That’s all he knew, and to him, love was something conditional.

There is no such thing as unconditional love. 

Rick pondered this, even though humans were all the same. All so dull, boring, oblivious, mundane. He wanted someone _ interesting. _Someone who matched his wit, his passions, he wanted to play chess. And he wanted a chance to lose. 

Shaking his head, he properly manifested in the house of one of Morty’s private school teachers. He didn’t bother looking around, places like these made him...uncomfortable. Too prideful to admit it, but sticking around in a house adorned with crucifixes and bibles made his skin crawl. It pinched his skin, made it feel too tight, then too loose. It made his eyes sting and water and his nostrils were filled with a brimstone smell. His hands itched and it would feel too hot in a bad way.

Rick made his way over towards the nun, rolling his eyes as she was slow to get ready for the school day. It gave him time, sure. But it was annoying to hear her sing her little hymes and recite her bland prayers.

She stopped in place.

And he stepped in place.

A long, boney finger pressed against her forehead, completely halting her movements and singing. The black, pointed nail gently poked the skin, his influence seeping into her skull.

_ Morty has bruises on his arms _

_ Remember seeing that last week? _

_ Could be bullies, sure _

_ But... _

_ Could also be his father… _

_ Remember seeing Jerry man handle him outside of school last month? _

_ It makes sense _

_ Shaking his shoulders violently and roughly gripping his arm, squeezing painfully _

_ Remember how you tried to stop them? _

_ Well, you still can _

Rick was a master of the subconscious. He sweetly made soft suggestions of abuse, watching the cogs turn in the nun’s head. She was one to gossip, they all knew this. 

That’s why she was chosen.

Giving her skin chills, and determination gluing itself to her old broken heart, he sent her off on her way.

And what would happen, Rick knew, was that Jerry would be _ pissed _ at Morty. He wouldn’t blame Beth, nor would he blame Summer. Morty was the black sheep of the family, the one who took all the fault, the devil sensed this. Sure, he abused Beth, but she was smart. She would wear cardigans and sweaters, her and Summer being exceptionally excellent at applying makeup to the bruises they’d develop over a rough night.

Morty just blamed his injuries on bullies, which wasn’t a lie. Kids at school teased him, made fun of him, belittled him. It would make sense to blame his black eye on one of the jerks there. But _ constant _injuries? A little suspicious. They were strict at his school, the scuffle wouldn’t last too long before being broken up.

It was oh so _ excellent _ because some of the nun’s suspected fowl play. Even some of the kids. No one mentioned it, they didn’t want to think about it, so they said nothing. They like to think people are nice. Jerry seemed like a family man, he had strong morals and a strong voice. But over time, there comes a point where people start to question why your son is constantly hurt.

And who knows what’s underneath his clothes? What kind of bruises and scars reside there?

Rick exited the house, on a mission to surreptitiously corrupt old and young minds alike. A domino effect, one nosy nun mentioning to another some drama, it would spread like wildfire that day.

And Morty would be all to blame.

He’d have to make more contracts, offer more of himself, and Rick would keep pushing, until it was too much. And with such a young and fragile mind and ego, it would be too easy.

He sighed. Too easy. 

A part of him wanted Morty to start pulling punches. His soul was already basking in divine light, but oh my _ god _ wouldn’t it be satisfying prying it from his broken, cold, bloody fingers? He needed mind games, he craved it. He needed it to be _ worth _ the effort.

So he’d push, and pull, and pry, he’d make Morty lose his mind in such a savage way. Rick believed that anyone is capable of anything. If you break someone enough, they’ll crack, and they’ll kill.

Even the most god-like man will commit heinous acts if pushed enough.

And Rick wanted to _ push._


	4. Hades

It’s in a human’s nature to create art. 

Throughout our existence, we’ve always sang, drawn, wrote, danced, sculpted, expressing ourselves in unique ways. It’s an integral part of us to release oneself, we show that through our clothes, hairstyle, jobs, dreams. We’ve always had physical ways of showing off how we feel emotionally. And as humans, we feel strongly. We feel deeply, fiercely. 

We, are human.

This isn’t wisdom, this is a simple observation. 

**But what about those that express themselves in mutilation? We look down on them for needing help. What about those who express themselves in unconventional and uncomfortable ways? We judge them before we even talk to them. It’s in our nature to feel disdain towards those who appear and act differently than us.**

It’s in our nature to love, and love the unloved. We find solace in one another, we empathize, we sympathize. We connect naturally. We hold each other tenderly and place flowers in the other’s hair. We bake them homemade bread and wash their feet as our King of Kings has done. We make friends with the degenerates, the sex workers, the thieves, the refugees, the nonbelievers.

**But it’s also in a human’s nature to be needlessly cruel towards one another. Where do young children learn to bully? Say they’re raised in a conservative environment, you’ll catch them beating the shit out of each other over trivial things. Where did they learn to do that? Cain, the first murderer, where did he get the idea to bash his brother’s head in with a rock?**

His blood cries out to me from the ground.

**His blood was spilt from jealousy and feeling lesser. **

And despite it all, we, are lovers.

**And despite it all, we, are beasts.**

It’s in our nature to be beautiful! To coincide peacefully among the trees and the bodies of water. The stars and our sun, the hills and the valleys. The elements, they’re _ inside _ of us. The water leaks down our face from joy, there’s air breathed divinely into our lungs, there’s fire residing in our heart, giving us determination. Our hands and feet are roots from the earth, connecting our energy to everything and everyone we touch. There’s stars that take the form of freckles on our cheeks, our eyes are as bright as all the galaxies moons, and our smiles shine like the morning sun.

**It’s in our nature to be ** ** _spiteful. _****We create chaos that takes on the titles of “war” and “famine” with all sorts of other atrocities. The sins of the world, they’re ** ** _inside_ ** ** of us. We lust, whether sexually or in a physical sense of ** ** _wanting _ ** **an object that’s not properly yours. We’re greedy, putting ourselves before our loved ones. We lie, we cheat, we ** ** _hurt._**** It’s who we are. The hellfire, the brimestone, the blood, the agony, it resides in all of us. You will all give into your meaningless anger eventually. Watch.**

We express our love in a multitude of ways. Eros, Philia, Ludus, Agape, Pragma, Philautia.

**We express our sins in a multitude of ways. Gluttony, Sloth, Greed, Lust, Wrath, Envy, Pride. **

We are divine human beings in nature.

**We are animalistic in nature.**

  
  
  
  


_ Morty. _

  
  
  


_ Excuse me? _

  
  


_ Mortimer! _

“Hm?” Morty squeaked, involuntarily stepping back into reality as he then stopped in his tracks, looking around to whoever was calling him. 

He glanced over, seeing three nuns motion towards him. The boy looked at them quizzically as he walked towards the trio.

“Uhm, am-am I in trouble?” He asked tentatively, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his school shirt.

“No, child. We’ve come to tell you that we’ve contacted your father. He’ll be coming here shortly.” One if the nuns explained, smiling sweetly, but nothing was behind it.

“Wh...Why is he coming?” Morty breathed, searching the women’s eyes frantically. “What’s- What’s wrong?”

“We’ve contacted him to discuss...certain matters.” One of the ladies gave him a look, hoping he’d understand. 

Clearly he didn’t.

“The…_ abuse_, Mortimer.”

Morty’s face completely drained of color, his cheeks blanching as he felt like fainting. He immediately found his voice, and used it wrongly.

“You did _ what?!_”

“Shh, shh, don’t get everyone’s attention.” One of the nuns hissed. 

He was young, and scared, so Morty didn’t know how to properly react to something like this. He was too small to handle all the massive amounts of panic he was manifesting inside of himself. He wasn’t slick or sly, he couldn’t play it off, because he simply wasn’t...intelligent enough. The boy was very emotional, and Rick knew he would be unable to keep his cool. He depended on it.

Young ones aren’t the best at hiding extreme bouts of negative emotions. With age and wisdom, we become better at doing so.

So he blew up at them, confirming their doubts and suspicions.

“You-You _ can’t do that! _ What were- what were you thinking?” He wailed, balling up his small hands into shaking fists. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my _ god!_”

One of the nuns yanked his wrist, slapping it harshly three times before roughly shoving the appendage away. Morty whimpered pitifully, cradling his stinging hand to his chest.

“You know what the rules are, Mortimer! Do _ not _ take our Savior’s name in vain!” She spat.

The boy was speechless. He threaded his fingers through his hair, tears forming in his eyes. His small frame was trembling so violently that one of the women suggested he sit down in the principal's office. They lead him down the hall, into the small room where he almost fell into a chair. 

The three women looked at him in a state of disdain. Morty just stared back incredulously. They were more upset that he took the Lord’s name in vain over him being beaten at home?

_ “He’s going to kill me when I leave school today.” _

The child’s breath stuttered at this realization, the boy being thrown into a dissociative trance from all the stress.

And yet, he still found himself ponderings from the numbness.

_ “I’m going to die today.” _

_ “Where will I go?” _

_ “Will Rick be there?” _

  
  


_ Rick. _

  
  


Morty gasped softly at the thought. If he could contact him, maybe they could work something out…? He was certain today would be his last day.

But oh my god. Would he have to kill his dad? Would Rick make him do it? He said...he was part of this plan. That he wouldn’t do it himself. That he needed help. But if he killed his father, he’d be sent to hell. But, he contacted a demon, wouldn’t he be going to hell already? But wait, he didn’t _ ask _ for a demon to answer, so it’s not his fault. Maybe if his father beat him and he died, he’d still have a shot at going to heaven. But he _ kissed the devil_. He made a deal. And for what? It all turned out into this-

Morty’s train of thought was interrupted as his father stepped into the office, the priest glancing over at his son with a blank stare. The boy’s eyes dropped to his lap in shame.

The principal started talking to Jerry about the nuns’ accusations, the man laughing lightly as it seemed so ridiculous. I mean c’mon, Jerry? The family man, hitting his son? These three women were known to gossip anyways. It’s their word against the man of God. The two laughed it off, Jerry acting polite but comfortable. 

The nuns quietly left the room.

It was a good facade. It’s how manipulators work. You’d never guess, lying comes so easily. It’s like they were born to do it. They can twist anything into their liking, take bold accusations and laugh it off, make you seem like _ you’re _the crazy one. Like you’re in the wrong, and he’s in the right. Everyone loves him and no one even likes you. There’s no catching him. There’s just...it’s just…

Hopeless.

Jerry laughed one final time before calling Morty’s name, the kid breaking out of his dissociative state.

“Hey buddy. We’re done here. Wanna come to the store and help me restock the church?” He questioned in faux sweetness.

It was the tone of a teacher talking to a child. You could tell that he was looking down on him, not seeing him eye to eye. He clearly thought of his son as lesser, as dull, as stupid. That he couldn’t understand what he was saying, that he couldn’t comprehend it.

Morty couldn’t speak, so he just nodded.

Maybe he really was stupid.

“Is that okay with you, sir? There’s twenty minutes left of the day here, I didn’t think you’d mind?” Jerry asked kindly, smiling.

“Who would I be to stand in the way of a man of God working on his church?” The principal laughed, gesturing towards the door.

“I’ll see you next Monday, Mortimer.” 

God. God damn. It was Friday. Oh my god. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck. He’d get his ass beat for days until the start of school again.

Shit.

In a daze, he walked out of the school with his father, his head light, but fuzzy. The back of his neck felt cold with sweat and his chest ached, his heart pulsing dangerously hard, threatening to crack his sternum. Morty robotically opened the car door, slipping inside to his seat, pulling the seat belt over his lap.

He closed his eyes. Ready for the yelling.

Jerry fastened his seatbelt, then looked forwards. He sighed softly, then after a long moment, he started the car.

There was nothing said.

A couple moments turned into a couple minutes, and there was still...nothing.

It somehow made Morty _ more _ nervous that he wasn’t screaming at him. He didn’t trust his voice to speak, but he had to get some reaction out of his father. The silence was already killing him, he just wanted it to be over already.

_ “Okay, in three seconds, I’ll ask where we’re going.” _

_ One… _

_ Two….. _

“Wh…” Morty’s throat closed up unexpectedly, the boy coughing quietly.

“What store are w...we going to?” He asked timidly, his voice sounding foreign to him as it was so quiet and small. 

Pitiful.

But Jerry didn’t answer. And Morty realized quickly that they weren’t going to the store. They were going home.

_ “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, _ _ and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, _ _ pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” _

Morty recited this prayer over and over, as they rolled into the driveway, and as he walked up the steps to his house. His sigh trembled as his dad unlocked the door, the man stepping inside.

Jerry turned around, glancing at Morty, who was frozen on the porch.

There was a moment of silence.

Suddenly, his hand shot through the door frame, gripping onto Morty’s collar as he roughly pulled him in, slamming the door shut.

“You little _ SHIT!_” Jerry roared, pushing the small boy up against the wall.

“I-I-”

Morty didn’t even know what to say, he just needed to speak before-

A very, very harsh slap silenced his thought process.

He could hear his blood in his ears as Jerry shook him violently by the shoulders, slapping him without remorse on the cheek again. 

The boy couldn’t tell if he was screaming or crying, everything just seemed...not real. None of his reactions were real, none of Jerry’s actions were real, he just felt empty. He could vaguely make out that his vision was cloudy, and that his body was _ fighting back. _He could see himself pushing Jerry away, covering his face, he could feel his vocal chords exercise themselves. He writhed, kicked, gasped, sobbed, but it was pointless.

Was he so used to this that it didn’t phase him anymore? 

That question was answered as Jerry kneed him in the stomach, the boy starting to crumble as his little legs gave out. But his father caught him by the throat, hoisting him up so they were face to face.

Now he was hyper aware of everything.

It was like his head was being pulled up from a pool, now he could see, now he could _ breathe. _ He could hear, he could touch, he could feel, and he wanted it all to go away. Morty wanted to return underwater, because that’s where he felt apathy. He felt safe, empty, numb. Now he felt...

Guilty. Ashamed. Remorseful. _ Scared. _

He was terrified for his fate, and horrified by his father’s actions. He didn’t know if he’d survive the afternoon, the boy had to live. He had to. He had to see Rick again.

He had to.

In this frightened state, all he could think about was the devil. He was his knight in shining armor, he wanted him to come and whisk him away, he needed the demon to feel safe. 

Morty has a strange attachment to things that cause pain.

_ Why _ did he want Rick back? Is it because he held him like no one ever has before? Is it because he spoke so softly, he could be mistaken for an angel? Is it because _ he came when Morty needed someone? _

_ Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all… _

_ Maybe he could...be a friend. _

No, this wasn’t right. Is he so desperate for a friend that he’d settle for _ this? _

He had fallen so quickly for this demon without even realizing it. Morty was so out of touch with God, and maybe it’s because he could actually see and feel Rick. He could...experience him. 

Whereas to him, God was faceless.

Whereas to him, the devil was tender with his heart.

He _ should _ be praying to saints right now! To Mother Mary, God, Jesus, anyone _ but _ the Father of Lies. Was it _ this _ easy to persuade him? To lead him off course?

All this praying, fasting, sessions of confession, all for nothing? 

_ Was his whole life meaningless? _

He couldn’t feel his soul anymore, he only felt wanting. 

Morty had always prayed for a friend, for a lover, for _ anyone _ to come and stand by his side. And now...maybe…he finally had someone. Was this who God had promised him? Maybe it was a test..? A blessing in disguise? 

He was drowning neck deep in a puddle. Morty was making things more complicated than they needed to be. 

God had nothing to do with this. And Morty knew it. He just didn’t want to accept it.

His soul gently prodded at his heart while his mind screamed at the organ. His actions were much like his fathers, but his insides, his spirit, was much more tender.

It tentatively brought to light that there was _ evil in his house_, that _ wasn’t _ Jerry. He needed to _ stay away from it. _

But what prodded back was the voice in his head, playing chess with his soul, corrupting his mind, eating at his heart. More and more, the new voice started taking over his mindset. There was duality in not just himself now, but with everyone. With everything. 

No. Doesn’t matter. 

He wouldn’t fall. He’s made up his mind. He didn’t need Rick, he needed God. Lord, how could he stray so far? So quickly? It was shameful and it was embarrassing. 

What Morty didn’t realize is that Rick was the cause of what was happening to him right now. 

_ “Someone...help…” _

Morty was pulled back into reality as his father shook him.

“Worthless!” Jerry yelled, slamming the back of his head against the door.

“Stupid!” Thud.

“Pitiful!” Thud.

“Mistake!” Thud.

_ “God...anyone, if you can hear me, please- please, I need you.” _

“Disgrace!” Thud.

Morty’s eyes started to roll up, the kid clawing at his dad’s hand as he emitted scared choking noises. He kicked his legs haphazardly, his father eventually releasing his grip, the boy dropping ungracefully to the floor. He was quaking viciously, chest heaving as he moaned in pain. He squirmed, which turned into convulsing, groans and sobs escaping him as he lay there on the floor, writhing. 

Morty was prone to stress induced seizures, and the poor thing had to experience it alone as no one else in the family dealt with them. They handed him some meds and said “good luck”, then went on their way without much thought to it.

In this state, Morty could vaguely make out Jerry leaving after spitting some slur at him. The boy was sobbing as he convulsed, gasping and moaning in fear and in pain. He shook, twitching, his limbs unable to reassemble into proper functionality. 

After a long moment, he comprehended a presence next to him, kneeling down, prodding his shoulder gently.

_ “Oh, sweetie... What has he done to you...?” _

The voice sounded familiar, and it wasn’t until the unusually warm, boney fingers cupping his face did he realize it was Rick. The devil’s thumbs rubbed soft circles on his clammy cheeks, shushing him quietly. 

_ “Baby, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can.” _

Rick gently gripped Morty’s hand, who squeezed the life out of it.

_ “Two squeezes if you want me to make this stop. It’s been ten minutes, sweetie. This could be….life threatening.” _

Two painful squeezes.

_ “Okay.” _

Morty’s moans were muffled as Rick tenderly connected his lips to the child’s, the demon’s thumbs gently stroking his tear streaked cheeks. The effects were immediate, Morty eyes fluttered closed, his stiff body relaxing, melting into Rick’s touch. The devil softly pressed a couple more kisses to the boy’s cheeks, murmuring that he needed to open his eyes, now.

In a rightful daze, the child opened his eyes, gaze half lidded. He looked up at Rick, and to the demon’s surprise, he smiled a little.

“Y-Y-You came.” His voice was broken, but optimistic.

“Of course, baby.” Rick threaded his long fingers through Morty’s curls. “I’ll always come when you call.”

“How do you feel?” He questioned.

“Mmnnh don’t...don’t feel...good.” The boy mumbled, his eyes wandering around his damaged skull.

“Focus on me, baby. Keep your eyes on me. Keep your eyes on me.” Rick stroked the boy’s cheek with the back of his hand, knuckles tenderly tracing over the slap mark.

Morty gazed up at him, whimpering pitifully as his body ached. He just wanted to collapse into bed and sleep his life away, forgetting about the day.

“Good boy, good boy.” Rick cooed. “I’m going to rearrange you, okay? You need to be more comfortable, your back is going to hurt like hell if you keep lying on it on this hard ground.”

“Mmnh.” 

That noise, Rick guessed, was a green light to hold him.

He gently, oh so gently, arranged the boy’s position so that he was cradling him. Morty’s head was resting on his chest, the creature murmuring sweet nothings to him as they got comfortable.

“Hurts…” The boy gasped quietly, salt water manifesting in his big brown eyes.

“I know, baby. I know. I’m going to make it better, okay?”

Morty, in return, emitted damaged whimpers as his throat felt raw. He assumed he did scream, considering it felt so worn out. He should be screaming _ right now _for Rick to fuck off. Morty swore he had the worst luck. His head hurt too much to think about things any further, he just needed comfort.

He _ supposed _ he’d settle for this.

The boy felt like passing out, his breath was shallow and his body started to go limp in the demon’s arms. His head lolled a bit to the side, the kid’s eyes closing again.

“Stay with me, my love. Stay with me, stay with me. Stay with me, my love. You can’t go. I’ll stay with you.” Rick cooed softly, stroking the boy’s messy hair as he fought unconsciousness.

“Y...You tricked m...me. Into...kissing you.” He was slurring his words, eyes half lidded as he was on the verge of a mind collapse. 

“Shh, my love. My blood. My little one. He can’t hurt you anymore. Not with me around.” The devil purred, hugging Morty impossibly closer. “Wherever you go, I’ll fight for you. I’ll fight for you. _ I’ll fight for you._”

“I-I can’t let you do that.” The child whimpered, looking up at Rick’s empty eyes with his large, red rimmed ones. 

“I’m the only one that can help you, baby.” Rick murmured, smiling softly. “Where’s your great god now?”

Morty was silent for a moment. 

“But...but...God wouldn’t never send someone like _ you _ to...to help me. Why are you here when I asked Him for help.” Morty blinked slowly, his head pounding.

“If you want me gone, just say so, sweetie.”

But Morty found himself without words. Could be that he was exhausted...maybe Rick was pulling some demonic influence on his poor, poor soul….

Could be that he just didn’t want Rick to leave.

“I...don’t want my dad to hurt me any-anymore.” Morty mumbled, struggling to speak. Tears were leaking down his face, and he let them. He shouldn’t be embarrassed to cry, so he wasn’t. 

“He won’t hurt you, he won’t hurt you. He won’t hurt you, no he won’t hurt you.” Rick swore a heavy matter with a light tone.

“_Promise me this._” Morty begged pitifully, his high pitched voice wavering.

“I promise you this.”

The child sat there in his lap for a while in silence, debating with himself. Maybe...just..._ one _ kiss wouldn’t be bad. And it’s not like he demanded that Rick kill him or anything…

Maybe he could influence his father to not beat him or his family anymore…?

One more deal couldn’t be so bad. Right?

Morty found himself speaking, and was shocked more so than Rick at what he said.

“Then kiss me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y’all!! i hope you guys enjoyed this :] sorry for taking a while to update! i try to write everyday, but i’ve been recently. feel free to leave comments and kudos!!


	5. Behemoth

Some part of me wants to die

**Some part of you already has**

Is evil something you are? Or is it just something that you do?

**Without darkness, your light is meaningless**

I want this pain to be inflicted on others

**We have starved the masses into faith**

I want no one to escape this, too

**Because the pain feels good and you know it**

Everything is clean to the touch, my soul, my heart

**They view you as a dirty rag**

This is my kitchen

**I want them to know what I’ve done here**

My dad beats me in here sometimes 

**Look how sharp the knife is on the counter...**

I was reborn in my era of isolation 

**They look out the window and wonder **

Because I’m not there

**I’m in the backyard catching lightning bugs, tearing the legs off**

We put them in boxes and pole holes for them to breathe 

**Has your god done that to us in this world?**

We’re oddities to the creator, something to be kept on a bed stand

**Only to be looked at occasionally **

We’re just fireflies to a child

**Are you suggesting that God is a little kid?**

I could be suggesting that God might let us rot in a confining box that He put us in for fun 

**How does that make you feel?**

  
  
  
  
  


_ Angry _

  


Thank you, I’ll say goodbye, now. The logic in one world means nothing to another. Because, at the core, our dimension is based off of one thing.

Individuality. 

We’ll give meaning to our world, you and I. Your mindset has changed, now. No more poetry. No more delicate words bubbling inside the self. It’s all laid out on the table. Direct communication. Cut and dry. Pulling no punches, now.

Your soul is tired. And now you can’t tell if it’s me talking, or your own spirit. There’s no contradicting voice, now. We are, the same. We are, one. 

One thousand kisses will be borne from us.

This child who’s been beaten down until the floors collapsed beneath him _ has something after all. _

  
  
  
  


I will go until the floor breaks beneath me. I have summoned the hands of my father. I have my mother’s disbelief in a loving deity. I have sharpened my tongue with every surreptitious lie. I have practiced their jargon regarding suicidal ideation.

And I have made it mine. 

I will now look at my face in the mirror. I will now listen to him talk. I will now try to understand my insides. 

These words that bound us are depleting like blood on snow. We’ll stir our souls ‘til we’re one, then tender like heart beats we’ll become. 

You fit perfectly to me in this barbaric world. Please don’t let me go.  


** _I would never, I could never._ **

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Do you know what you’re asking for?” Rick questioned quietly, unable to hide the smile forming on his face.

Morty snapped out of his daze, the glazed over look in his eyes disappearing.

“I uh...I...I just want him to...to stop hurting me. To stop beating me and-and my family.” He breathed, gently clutching onto the front of Rick’s shirt.

The djinn pondered for a moment, slowly nodding his head.

“Okay, okay. I can do that.” He couldn’t repress the malicious glint in his eyes, his sharp canines prevalent in his toothy grin.

“I-I’m not...asking you to kill him. What I’m asking now...could it be easy? Is it easy? Does it...re-require my s-soul?”

The devil was quiet for a moment, his long, boney fingers threading through the mess of curls.

“It will require a sacrifice. It won’t take your soul, but it’ll take...something more.”

“L-L-Like what?” Morty whispered, his breath stuttering.

“I need some of your blood.” 

The demon’s hand that was stroking the boy’s hair now cupped his cheek. He rubbed soft circles on it for a moment before Morty slapped it away, muttering a curse under his breath. 

Unfortunately, the human wasn’t _ that _willing, or that daft. This wouldn’t go unquestioned, much to Rick’s dismay.

“S-So that’s like a...bond?”

“In a way.” Rick mumbled, tracing invisible patterns on Morty’s neck with his pointed black nail.

The child shivered, his breath shuddering as well as his small frame. This time he didn’t reject the devil's touch. 

“It’ll give me more access to your thoughts and feelings. A stronger...connection.”

“_Why _ would I _ possibly _ want that?” Morty questioning, squinting up at him.

Rick had to be truthful in this aspect, but he was always capable of twisting the facts just a tad to make it sound not as bad as it is.

“I need part of your essence. Blood can be restored easily, unlike the soul. It strengthens my power and makes me capable of accomplishing more through it. But only for a certain amount of time.” He mused, tapping his chin with a finger.

“The more tasks you need from me, the more I need from you, the stronger we’ll become.”

_ The easier it’ll be to take your soul from your clingy, needy little hands. _

The bond would be like a drug. The devil would need more and more of it, and oh, god, Morty would be more than willing to give it to him. His power would increase, and so would Morty’s longing for him. Unlike Yahweh, Rick could actually _ prove _ to the boy that he was real. 

Rick had multiple aspects he could take on in Morty’s life. A best friend, perhaps a lover. Maybe even a strong male figure. A new familial bond, one that would take over his father’s. In consuming more of Morty’s essence, he could feel more deeply into his being. Rick could see what he needed, what made him tick, what his passions were, what his boiling point would be. He would be a puppet in the palm of his hand. 

No, he couldn’t just take his soul all at once. He wanted to milk this child dry. Every human has a unique aroma, a one of a kind tasting sense of self. And Rick had never met a person with such a sickly sweet smell to it. He wanted his blood, he wanted his tears, he wanted his lips, and he wanted his spirit. All to himself. He was passionate, and he was greedy. Rick denied even the possibility of a thought called _ love. _ This was lust at its finest. Possessiveness, he didn’t care for the child, he just cared about what was inside of him. 

And he would take on whatever role that Morty needed. Humans form attachments quickly, especially children. The djinn could tell that Morty had subconsciously latched onto him, but he refused to acknowledge it. He would have to offer so much more for Morty to properly fall for him. 

So Rick would show him. He’d show him what he could do, show him love, warmth, tenderness, he could tell him humanity's secrets and give him the world’s riches. Rick could manifest his human desires in front of the boy and he would be all his. Present a shiny object to a kid and they’ll go insane to have it. 

If he could discard the carcass away, Rick would be more than happy to. The child was moronic, too trusting, cowardly, unable to _ fight back._

Rick hated weakness. He loathed it. It was disgusting to him, and it left a putrid taste in his mouth. If it weren’t for Morty’s sweet smelling soul, he’d be too repulsed to even hold his broken body. This obnoxious human was holding onto him like he was his savior. It was pitiful, and quite embarrassing.

But god, his lips tasted so soft and tender. They were so warm and plush, and they molded perfectly against Rick’s. Ashamed to admit it, but their awkward first kiss was more pleasant than many of his old lover’s. Or well, play things, at best.

The djinn had absolutely no wanting for the child’s personality. He didn’t care that he was hurting, he didn’t care that his family was broken, he didn’t care about anything but himself. Naturally. It’s not like a trembling boy with brittle hands could shape his heart into one of a lovely sense. There’s no _ warmth _ in it because it _ doesn’t exist. _

Rick has no heart. He’s never loved, and he will never. And he cannot be loved in return. That’s his curse, but also his biggest strength. Ergo, he views it as his most useful ability.

He cradled the child in his arms, slightly repulsed by the physical contact. But hell, it beat the women and the men begging for sex as they groped him. This kid just...wanted to be held. He wanted to feel loved.

So Rick held him.

He had to admit that right now, he was oddly relaxed. Rick’s shoulders weren’t tense, his chest wasn’t tight, he didn’t feel like he needed to watch his back. The boy felt warm, soft. He was light in his lap, and for the first time in his entire existence, someone didn’t want to use his body or passion for their own self gain. 

Morty just wanted to lay his head on Rick’s chest and sleep soundly. Not once did the boy indicate he wanted to use Rick for physical pleasure, or to obtain typical human wants. Morty didn’t want money, fame, sex, he just wanted...safety. He didn’t want his sociopathic father to keep manhandling him and roughing up his mother and his sister.

But, of course, there had to be some catch. Humans were selfish for sure. Morty must have secret wants, needs, something behind closed doors. And if _ somehow _ he didn’t, he would. Eventually. It’s only natural for that to happen. Rick was sure of it.

A gentle voice focused his attention back on the child.

“So...how much blood to I need to give?” Morty asked quietly, fingers twitching in nervousness.

“Just a couple drops, sweetie.” Rick reassured.

“Mmhn...okay.” He said nervously, uneasy.

“Here, give me your hand.” The devil carefully held Morty’s trembling hand in his own steady one.

“Focus on me, baby. Keep your eyes on me.” He said in a low, sweet voice. “Just like that, good.” Rick cooed.

Morty nervously locked eyes with the djinn, a hushed gasp escaping his lips as he felt a sudden prick on his thumb. Rick pulled his hand away, and his gaze as they both looked down at Morty’s fingers. There was a big bead of blood on the boy’s thumb, the weight taking its toll as it slid down his digit.

Without a word, Rick delicately grasped his wrist, bringing his hand up to his face. His tongue slithered out, swiping the child’s thumb, tracing down to his palm where the trail ended. Rick made eye contact throughout this, smirking as Morty’s face manifested a strawberry red on his cheeks.

His inhales and exhales that were stuttering were silenced as Rick promptly connected his lips to Morty’s, the demon hearing the boy’s heart practically pound it's way out of his chest. 

Morty closed his eyes, a very soft moan escaping him as Rick eagerly deepened the kiss for a moment. The taste of blood intertwined with spit made the devil’s head dizzy with lust, Rick cupping Morty’s cheek as his other hand intertwined in his curls. He swiped his tongue across the child’s bottom lip, promptly giving it a gentle tug with his teeth as he pulled his head back.

_ Oh. _

“Oh.” The boy breathed shakily, trembling as his eyes were wide, pupils dilated with wanting.

Morty’s cheeks were a dark red color, his small frame trembling with _ need _ as his head was spinning. He just stared up at Rick, who stared back down at him in delight. 

“Th-That was...uhm...o-oh….” The boy buried his face in his hands, flustered.

“How do you feel?”

“I-I feel...my body feels hot, it feels r-really weird.” He whimpered, his delicate frame trembling in the demon’s arms.

“Where, sweetie?” Rick questioned softly, rubbing gentle circles on Morty’s back.

He just shook his head violently, mumbling something under his breath as he made a defeated noise.

The cogs turned in the devil’s head, and the revelation sent shivers down his spine.

_ Don’t tell me- _

“Does it feel weird here, baby?” Rick gently traced the inside of his thigh, making Morty’s knees knock together as they closed on themselves.

“N-No!” The child squeaked, burying his face in Rick’s chest.

The djinn chuckled darkly, feeling the boy shudder in his lap. 

“It’s okay, baby. Nothing wrong with that.”

“It’s-It’s _ embarrassing_.” He whimpered, naive and feeling quite awkward. 

“I-I don’t kn-know what’s happening. I’ve-I’ve never felt this way be-before.” Morty admitted shamefully, scared.

_ Oh. _

“Is that so?” Rick questioned quietly, his lips twitching into a smirk.

“Y-Yeah…” 

The demon inhaled through his nose deeply, then exhaled through his mouth.

_ This was the catch. _

He needed to be...delicate with this situation. Something was stirring inside of him, new advantages, a certain leverage, potential possibilities, it made his head spin. Morty was a gentle lamb, untouched, pure of sin. It made Rick’s skin crawl in delight. The thought of taking that from him, slowly, delicately, _ lovingly_. Then passionate, greedy, possessive, all at once. He would ravage him, make the child _ his. _He would destroy him, taking his body, a new need for it. A new want for it. 

His physical being wasn’t so worthless or disgusting after all. It wasn’t so _ useless._ He knew nothing of gentle touch, and that’s what repulsed him. Only rough hands and twisting tongues, that’s all he knew. It’s all he was capable of. It’s all he was truly comfortable with. 

Rick could take him in every way, he could devour him in every aspect. He looked down at the boy, brushing through his mess of curls. The djinn could see Morty shyly peeking up at him through his hands, pupils blown wide with need. His big, innocent brown eyes glancing at Rick’s jet black ones. Morty’s blush had spread to his neck and ears, his tiny frame was shivering in Rick’s lap.

Rick was hesitant to admit it, but properly looking at the child, he was...beautiful, in a way. Small in stature as he only came up to Rick’s chest. 

Morty had delicate features like his thin hands and frail wrists. His doe eyes and small, upturned nose. The child had freckles that dotted his cheeks and some twisted teeth that were oddly charming. He had long eyelashes and plush, full lips. Very easy to break.

Yes.

Yes…

He could settle for this. He could be happy with this. 

Rick looked down lovingly, imaging the blush that would manifest on Morty’s cheeks as he touched him for the first time. His flushed skin, his innocence being taken, Rick would make him cry. 

Morty was so gentle and naive, easy to manipulate as he was a repressed, hormonal teenager. So Rick would show him the way. He’d teach him how to feel good with the devil’s hands, his lips, his body. The child’s being was quaking through simple touches and sweet kisses, he’d melt like butter in his grasp. He’d teach him how to last longer, to kiss better, to feel good.

Blood and sex. That would be his next offering. A deadly combination and an irresistible one at best. 

Rick just looked at Morty, stroking his hair as he contemplated this new possibility. The kid was repressed in a lot of ways, that was definite. He probably never dreamed that he would even kiss a boy before.

_ Another sin. _

Rick’s lips shifted into a small smirk. He wouldn’t strike now, but soon enough. The timing had to be just right. He’d surreptitiously touch him more in all the right places, call him pet names, make more subtle advances. It wouldn’t take long, and it wouldn’t be hard. This was the perfect advantage. 

Impulsive, reckless, unpredictable, disloyal, and one to quickly change his mind, that was all Rick. He was repulsed by Morty’s gentle touches, he just wanted to be rough with the child, wanted to make him beg. Nothing tastes sweeter than a virgin, and nothing appeared more appealing than his tender soul. He was already addicted to his blood, and drawn in by Morty’s tears. 

Rick smiled softly. He looked so pretty when he cried...

“Rick?” Morty whimpered quietly, drawing back his attention.

“Yes, sweetie?” He said in a hushed tone, the hand in his hair coming to cup the child’s cheek. 

“Wh-What will you do t-to my dad?” He questioned nervously, glancing up at the devil with his doe eyes.

“I’ll make him stop hitting you, sweetie.” He replied quietly, eyes half lidded as he looked down on the boy. 

“But-But how?” Morty prodded, wanting answers.

“Shh, shh, just focus on getting some rest. Your head is a jumbled mess, you had a seizure for quite some time, baby. There’s no need to think about things such as that.”

The boy made a soft sound of defeat, closing his eyes as he nuzzled his head into Rick’s chest. He relaxed as the djinn whispered sweet nothings to him, rubbing his back softly and stroking his cheek, playing with his hair and giving his head tender kisses. 

Eventually, the boy dozed off in the devil’s arms, feeling safe. Feeling loved. It didn’t take too long, his body was exhausted as well as his mind, it was a rough day and he needed a lot of rest.

Morty dreamed of soft touches, delicate kisses, and gentle words. He was so lost in his dreamscape that it took him a while to wake up to the sound of screaming. His body jerked, the boy sitting upright in his bed, heart skipping in circles as his breath stuttered. 

The child looked around, noticing he was alone in his room. And now he was able to recognize who was screaming as another wail seeped underneath his closed door, into his dark room. 

  
  


_ Dad. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update guys! i hope this chapter was okay :] lemme know in the comments!


	6. Leviathan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y’all i’m so sorry for the late chapter!! i was in iceland for a while and i’ve been struggling with my mental health really badly :( so it’s getting really hard to write! i’m so sorry for the short chapter, i wanted to put smth out at least while i deal with my seasonal depression

_ …..Fac, ut ardeat cor meum _

_ in amando…. Christum Deum _

_ ut sibi complaceam….. _

_ Sancta Mater! Istud…. agas _

_ crucifixi fige plagas...cordi _

_ meo valide….? _

_ Tui Nati…... vulnerati, _

_ tam dignati pro me pati, _

_ poenas….. mecum divide? _

_ Today I took my first breath, my holy Mother knew which one would be my last. She wept her divine tears, and I lapped up the light up like milk. It gives me strength, and my soul opens up to new purposes. _

_ Now I’m 5 years old and invincible. I’m the tallest kid in class! Some of the students think it’s silly that I double knot my shoe laces and eat chapstick, but what do they know? Fig Newtons are my favorite snack and I love catching fireflies and collecting pretty rocks! Blue is my favorite color! I play with the neighbors puppy and she loves me a lot! _

_ Now I’m 7 years old and confused. I see mommy cry often, she’s drinking some purple juice while sitting on the kitchen floor alone. I’m starting to grow wary of loud noises, father keeps slamming the door and it scares me. I told him I didn’t like the noise but he laughed at me and pushed me aside. I lost my first friend today, he said I was too stupid to play with and my teeth were ugly. The puppy got run over recently and all this loss makes my chest hurt. I’ve never felt this let down before. Is this what growing older feels like? The world is mean? _

_ Now I’m 10 years old and growing up too fast. My father hit me for the first time today ‘cause I asked him a question when he was on the phone. The kids at school point out my bruises and laugh, so I wear long sleeves. I haven’t eaten in a long time, the only thing to nibble on are communion wafers, I’ve had enough to make me sick ten times over. Mommy won’t talk to me anymore, Summer won’t look me in the face. I’m terrified of everything. I keep praying, but no one is answering. _

_ Now I’m 14 and irresistible. The Father of Lies tugs my heart strings to a miraculous tune and kisses me tenderly. He has yet to lead me astray, and I don’t understand the weight of it all quite yet. I’m waiting for Yahweh to strike my sail down, l'appel du vide in a sea I could let myself breathe in. The salt water is itchy on my skin and I’m thirsty. Water water everywhere nor any drop to drink. Water water everywhere and all the ships did sink. _

**My neck is above the tide while he drowns in the undertow. The scripture he knew so well is slipping from the mind, and what runs through it now is memorizing kisses and soft touches. He lets me hold him so easily, how quickly we forget what it’s like to be hit by the people we love. His body can’t reject mine anymore. It doesn’t want to.**

**He’s found a way for his heart to cope, but what about his head? His chest yearns for love, but his mind knows that it’s wrong.**

**The boy asks himself “How can something as pure as love be bad?” **

**So he writes poetry. He’s had a taste of blood and tears and wasn’t too fond of the taste, so he took what he ingested and threw it up on a page. **

_ forgotten kids _

_ i see myself in them _

_ i can feel these tears and taste their end _

_ all these days of nothing new _

_ through the violent haze _

_ do you see yourself in me, too? _

_ my bruises are purple poetry _

_ it's been dying to be seen and set free _

_ but it's something surreptitious that only i can see _

_ kindness is the only thing i have _

_ please don't take that away from me _

The boy in the mirror demanded Morty face him like a man as he ran in and was presented with his father’s tears.

Now the child was the one looking down on Jerry as he was sitting on the ground, and what he saw made his stomach lurch and his toes curl in disgust.

Morty faced his enemy in the reflection of his father’s salt water, this time is was himself that he loathed. Because what he beheld was torn fingernails littered around a trembling mess of a man. Jerry’s fingertips were dripping blood, a couple nails were still hanging on, and it made Morty sick to think that his father would have to pull them off himself.

He couldn’t just…leave them like that.

How could this happen...

Jerry would never do this to himself, so-

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Rick. _

Morty’s face blanched, his head felt cold and prickly as his chest felt tight. His knees knocked together until he ended up collapsing to the ground, and he fell hard. The child dry wretched in front of his father as he bowed in front of him, much like he did with Christ, his hands holding him up as his head hung low. 

Morty’s skin crawled in horror as he heard his wails, his stomach squeamish as he saw the man writhing on the floor. 

He pitifully covered his ears with his trembling hands as he grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. The boy whimpered softly, not even noticing that his mom was curled up on the bed in a catatonic state, wide eyes glazed over, lips pressed in a firm line.

He sobbed softly, rocking back and forth as his grief was too large of a titan to contain in his small frame of a human being. Morty’s skin was manifesting a cold sweat, his face clammy as his hands were clenched into fists.

_ This isn’t what I wanted! _

He cried, a spike of spite being the pike to poke the piece of palpable love in his chest. How could his anger and disdain morph into such a stage of defeat and grief? 

**Look at him.**

Morty felt his head snap up, eyes wide and watery as he locked his strained stare with his father. The glassy gaze looking back at his wet vision, the two sharing a link that was never there.

_ LOOK AT ME AND BEHOLD THE FATHER OF THE DAMNED _

_ FACE TO FACE _

_ MORPHING MONSTERS MEETING _

_ THE DEVIL’S LOVER AND THE CULT LEADER _

_ WOE TO THE WORTHLESS SHEPHERD WHO FLED THE FLOCK _

_ HOW ARE YOU BETTER THAN HIM? _

_ AN EYE FOR AN EYE ONLY LEAVES US ALL BLIND _

_ THIS ISN’T JUSTICE _

_ THIS IS THE RULE OF BEASTS _

_ VENGEANCE, GIVE ME VENGEANCE _

_ BECAUSE HE SAID _

_ WE’RE THE WHORE’S SON _

_ JUSTICE, GIVE ME JUSTICE _

_ DEMON’S DON’T LOSE SLEEP OVER THE DEVOTION OF ANGELS _

_ HEAVY WEIGHS MY HEART AS I CUT YOU OUT _

_ HEAVY LIES MY SOUL AS I CUT YOU DOWN _

He gasped harshly as he felt hot hands grabbing his thin frame. Morty was being pulled back, the kid finding himself being dragged away by an invisible force through his parents doorframe. The door slammed shut on its own, the boy’s body trembling violently as he cried.

Rick physically manifested, kneeling down as he beheld the child in front of him. He was seizing up, dry heaving as he convulsed, eyes squeezed shut as he sobbed.

“Morty...Morty...shh...it’s okay.” He murmured, the back of his hand grazing the kid’s cheek.

Morty slapped it away, a choked noise emitting from him.

“Wh-What have you done!” He wailed, hands gripping the sides of his head.

“Shh, sweetie. He won’t hurt you anymore. I’ve done what you asked me to. He won’t hit you again.” He cooed softly as Morty cried.

The kid looked up at him incredulously, the fire in his eyes seeming to perfectly coexist with the water manifesting inside of his whites.

“Y-Y-You’re a-a _ monster!_”

Rick huffed softly in amusement. He then peeled back his lips and smiled too widely, the corners of his mouth just beneath his eyes as sharp teeth jutted out. Now the weight of his alien form settled on the child as he shook. This creature wasn’t holy, he was an abomination. Without God and his grace, he boiled in the depths where he would return.

Rick giggled softly, which chilled Morty to the _ bone _as he heard three vastly different pitches emit from the monster’s mouth. This is what he summoned. This is what hurt his father.

But this is what he fell for so hard and desperately. This is what held him so closely as he cried, and kissed his face tenderly while his soft touches graced his scarred skin so lovingly.

This is what he gave his blood to. This is what he was _ bound _to. And he wasn’t coerced, so he had to dispel that thought immediately as excuses were worming their way into his mind. 

Morty couldn’t bare to face him anymore. He turned his face and wept, his bones nearly breaking from how hard they shook.

“**Darling.**” Rick cooed, his voices stirring together. “**Why won’t you look at me?**”

  
  
  
  


_ Because I’m a coward. _

This thought made Rick laugh quietly.

“**Aren’t you happy? Aren’t you proud of me? I made him rip off his fingernails so he wouldn’t be able to hit you anymore!**” He giggled, and now Rick was the one who was shaking.

His voices suddenly got quiet, and started huffing in unison at different pitches, making Morty’s skin crawl.

_ Please, stop this. _

The child’s thoughts were unusually quiet and calm, and this made Rick’s smile grow impossibly larger. 

He forcefully grasped Morty’s chin and tilted it upwards, a boney finger then slowly coming towards the boy’s forehead. His sharp, black nail touched the skin, the demon muttering “sleep”.

Morty’s eyes immediately rolled up as his body became limp, his small frame collapsing into Rick as the monster wrapped his arms around him. He shifted him, scooping up the child as he lead him back into his room. 

Rick carefully laid him down on the bed, still smiling, as he tucked him in. He leaned forwards, face to face with Morty, his three consecutive voices speaking softly in tongues.

** _Goodnight, little lamb._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls leave comments if y’all like! hearing yalls opinions helps me able to write cause it gives me a shit ton of motivation :) <3


	7. Bael

F̷̰̭̜̓̋̍á̷̯͎͘c̶̣̘͐ ̶̥̆m̴̻̭̀̒é̸̙̝ ̴̟́̿̆ț̵̝̩̈́͒̐ę̶̬̀̀͜c̴͔͙̤̒u̸̹̬̟̽̌m̵͙̮̾ ̷̹̏̚p̶͔͆͐͝ḭ̴͔̟̏e̸͚̦̤̿͌̑ ̸͙̞̰̌̋f̶̠̭̯̈́l̸̮͉͊́͜é̴̱̞r̴͇̋͘e̷̞̯͌̄,̴̛̻͙͝ͅ

̴̤̇c̷̭̤͔̋r̶̞̦̤͌̚u̷̜͊̊c̶̪̈̔̓ͅi̷̛̯͎̼̊̇f̴̳̋͐i̶̦̫͋͐x̷̩̪͖̄̔ö̵̤͈̯́̌͝ ̴̱̥̽̈͝c̴̙̎͠ö̶̻́͘n̵̗̹̈̒ͅd̴̢̫̝̈́̾̆ö̵̞̭̣́͂ľ̴̜e̵̬̫̋͂ŕ̵̤͇ė̶̬,̷̡͍̰̊̈

̵̧̳̅̐̏d̸̤̳̦̈o̵͇͑̍͘ͅn̵̻̅̇̔e̴͉͌͆͐ċ̷̣̲͘ ̸̤͎̒̄e̶͕̻͖̎g̶͚̈́̂͠ö̶͕̲́̿͜ ̸͙̊̊v̴̛̮̈́į̵̞̋̒̋x̶̢́͌ĕ̶̱̈́̄r̸̛͈̅̔ȯ̷̢̯̻́̋.̷̣̳͊ 

̶̡̼͐́I̶̖̗͐́̇͜u̷̻̮̿̌͆x̸͉̹͆͝t̶̙̎ä̸̮̫̋̌ ̷̔̈́͊͜C̴͙̰͒͠r̶͚̪̉̿̊ū̵̪̩c̶̢̨̄̍ę̵̂̔ͅṃ̴͒́̕ ̸̼̥͌͊̊ẗ̷̫̰̞͊e̴̡̺̘̽c̶̥͈͙̅̆̚ů̸̡͂͊m̵̰̦̠̋ ̴͙͙̋͗s̸̛̯͝ẗ̵̹̦̇̉a̵̢͌̄r̷̦̺̮̀͋̀é̴̪̩̻,̶̘̰̼̔

̷̙͇̘͋͗́e̶̻̹̥̚̕͝ţ̸̺͑̈ ̷̙͇̻̈́̑͒m̸̺̪̿͌̕e̸̛̼̅ ̵̝͉͚͆̅t̴̀ͅĩ̷̹͕͚b̷͎͛̌i̷̡͒̒͝ ̶̬̙̲́s̶̟̲̔͘ȍ̶̱͚c̷̲̰͚̓͘i̵̗̫̓ȧ̴̢̡r̵̢̈͘e̷͇͂

̵̹̫̒V̸̛͓͝i̶̭̳͐͜r̴̢̥͕̒̑̃g̸̖̱͂ò̶̺ͅ ̷̫̗̇̈́͗v̶̺̠̔̉i̶̛̗̻̊̎r̵̛͓̩̻̍g̸̙̭̩̿͐i̸̡̺̖͐͝ǹ̷̢̀̈́u̵̳͈̖͋̈́m̶̞̻̍̀̔ ̸̧̰͂p̶̨̗͊͜r̸̟̂̕a̷̱͆e̴̡̮̺͌̂͂c̶̪̰͔̍͝l̶̡͔̞͝ą̷͎̌ṛ̶͍̀a̶͖̓,̴͙̤̀̿

̴̤̰̮͋m̴̼̍̏̚i̸͖̠̓ḫ̶͌i̶̜̯͊ ̶̨̠̦͗̊͂ĭ̵͙̈́̕a̵͙̲̐̇͜m̵͚̏̓̑ ̸̪̻̈́̅̌ǹ̷̡̼ó̴̯̥̂͠n̴̬̠͝ ̶̡̈́̒s̶̮͋i̵͍͍̔̑̚s̵̭̻͇͋͌ ̶͎̫̀̍ǎ̸̯͕͆͘m̶͈̽̔̊å̴̫͘ṛ̷̮̙̂͗a̸̹͋̿̂,̸͚̈́̀͝

̷̧̡̻͑̐̑F̸͚̦͑̾a̷̋͘ͅç̶̗̋,̴̔́͜ ̸̳̎̐͊u̴͕̓̃̐ṱ̶͑̒ ̴̻̹̼̓̽p̷̳̞͆̊ơ̵͕r̷̘̔t̴̼̦͉̅̚e̴͈̪͐͊̀m̴̗̜̠͂͊̇ ̵̲̩̇̃C̵̬̞͌͆͝h̸̞̮̏͛͐ͅr̸̖̯̄͐̀i̶̖̐ṡ̵͘ͅt̴̘̓i̴̫̍͗ ̶͈̋̒̀m̴̗̜̦͐̄̈́o̷͙̪̩̔̍r̶̘̋͑t̸̺̘̏͝e̷̲̣̘͋͐̀m̷̮̾,̴̯̝̚

̵̱̹̀p̴̨̈̓a̵͊͜ͅș̴̔s̶̖̒í̵̟͔̥̏͑ȍ̵̭̣͆̈n̸͓͓̳̅i̶̧͓͙̿ś̵̝̝͍ ̶̖̑͠f̶̣͒̐͛a̶̼͜͠c̵̳̮͝ ̵̑̓ͅc̶̖̒̏͒o̶̲̔͜͝n̵̦͋̈s̶͇̿o̶̦̎̋̂r̵̠͉̽̋͝ť̷͓̥e̴͉̟͊́̌m̵̱̎̇̔,̴̨͎́̿

̴̬̿e̷̳̍t̸̡͔͓͑̈́̽ ̶͍̋ͅp̷̳͖̓̌̿l̵͖͂a̴͓̽ͅg̷̨̡͒̊̚ͅa̷̢͍͛s̵̤̓ ̵̹̗̟̈́̆̔r̴͍̤̖̃̎e̷̼̿͊c̸̨̡̟̒̂ò̴̞͚̥l̵̛͚̅ȇ̶͓̩r̴͇͌͛ẹ̵̼̀̑́.̶̭̞̃͂

̴̥̼̆̚F̴̹̼̟̆͊a̶̧̛̹͈̐̋c̶͕̗͌ ̶̺͗́m̶̖̖̎͠e̷͍͔͆̂ ̶͉̗̺͑p̷̄̋ͅl̸̼̮͎͐̃́ã̶͚͉͂͌g̵̞͑͌̒į̸͖̘͋̈́̀s̷͚̖̺̓͐̑ ̶̤̪͖́̆v̶̦̟̿̑́ͅṵ̵̀͠ͅl̸̢̩̋̑̂n̷̛͉̓̽ȩ̷̭̠̿r̷͓̱̫̅̒á̸̫̰̱̕ŗ̸̱̲̿͋̆î̶̮͙,̷̤͖̎͒̍

̷̗̙̥̃͝e̸̗̓t̶̢̺̂ͅ ̷̞̇̓ć̶̣̑ṙ̷̦̰̒̚u̵̗̗̦͗̆ò̵͉͗r̶̗̼̽̍e̷͎̪͒̈́̀ ̶̪͍̝̆F̸͍̿̄i̵͙͌̌̓ḷ̵͖́i̸͚̣͑̉͐͜ȉ̷͉̤̺.̶̣̀̍̕

_ I was born in my era of absolution. From the flock I fled, my soul did wander. The purpose of my human being was that of a god, or perhaps a fae, undeniably insane to a person who doesn’t believe in oddities. To love the devil? Absurd! To care for an abomination and taste his teachings? Repulsive! _

_ And I declared on my fifteenth birthday, instead of drinking communion wine with what little friends I had, I convinced myself I was a child of of Moloch, and proved my insufferable insanity. It was satisfying to terrify the angels around me, to brand myself a mad man, rather than merely bore my peers. _

_ They called me an abomination. _

_ Only Mother Mary knew of my last few tears. The Father’s breath gets short and his chest gets tight. They’ve been counting down the days before me to the revelation of my end. There’s pity in their glances, and my eyes that are wide and full of water can’t understand why as I look up at my loving creators. Woe to the child of weakness whose suffering is bigger than his soul. _

_ Behold the boy who devoured Satan’s heart. _

_ They say I’m disgusting, face down on the floor. If strength was forged from pain, the whole universe could rest on my shoulders. People say they want to die, when all they need is to be understood. _

_ So I quote holy scriptures to myself to keep my tongue clean with godliness instead of putrid meat. But the Devil is threaded through my curls, no matter how many times I cut my hair, it always comes back. My skin sags and sinks, the smell of a failed abortion on my mother’s part surrounds me. The cravings of love and adoration are that of a ghoul, never satisfied, even until death. _

_ And death? It hangs over my head, stapling an inverted cross on my brow. The words above it read to do the world a favor and to kill myself, to sacrifice myself for the greater good. Just like my beloved Saint Peter. _

_ So what if my nose is upturned like a pig? There’s twisted teeth inside my clenched jaw that I force to smile. I believe my freckles resemble dirt, and my hair is wild and unkempt. But I swear, I swear, my heart is the most beautiful gem in the world. Give me the chance to show it, please...just let me near, you naive djinn. I love you. Please don’t run away. _

_ Please don’t run away. _

_ People say they want to be saved, but what they truly need to be is loved. And that's how we save them. My life or yours? Well, mine. _

_ Because you are my entire life. _

  
  
  
  
  


Weeks continued on without a sign from Rick. Morty’s birthday had passed, and how he spent it was tending to Jerry’s wounds and wants for a great portion of the day. 

But in a scandalous bout of impulsiveness, he had snuck out that night, crashing in the church courtyard after getting drunk off of communion wine. The boy spent quite some time blabbering to the saints above about his nonsensical reasoning as to why he hated the devil. It made him feel less alone, for the moment anyway. Morty could have sworn he saw Rick at some point in a pew, sitting silently. But when he blinked, he was gone. This only caused him to take another swig of wine, the boy collapsing to the ground as he cried. The stars that hung over his head twinkled, and he couldn’t tell if it was out of delight, or something sinister. It reflected the abundance of water that split his irises into glowing gems that shone as brightly as the moon. 

No. Jerry didn’t physically assault him anymore. He literally couldn’t. But that didn’t stop him from verbally and mentally hurting his son of sin. Jerry would sneer at him, glare, talk shit and spit out poison retorts that left the child crying as he ran towards his room. 

And when presented with the question, _ “what happened?” _Jerry explained that an angel of God instructed him to mutilate himself to receive Christ’s blessings. That in a strange dream he had that night, he envisioned a wonderful being of light, with golden words and a silver tongue. He greatly encouraged the man of Yahweh to cleanse his hands as there was dirt underneath his fingernails, and loose skin around his cuticles. With the angel’s gentle hands, he helped Jerry pull the nails off, while speaking softly in tongues that numbed the pain of being human. The man fell for it, naturally, as the devil was once a beautiful angel, and took on the form of a beautiful boy. 

And this being of light told him that his **filthy fucking son **would finally learn to respect him through this pain. That he would be rewarded for his actions in self harm, much like he had Morty do with his palm meeting the pointed crucifix.

But Rick wouldn’t bless him. And Jerry would assume it’s because Morty wouldn’t follow through and show his father due respect. So, upon no sightings of fortune or wishes, he would blame the child. And when his fingernails that he pulled off grew back properly, he would be inclined to stick them into Morty’s eyes and tear out the soft flesh, force feeding it to the brat.

Morty had to prepare meals for Jerry, decorate the church as his father demanded while he sat back and watched. He had to hand him things that were sitting a mere foot away from the man, and if he didn’t comply to Jerry’s ridiculous requests, he would receive a whole spiel on how it was _ his _fault that he had to rip off his own fingernails. 

The guilt didn’t settle well with the boy. 

Morty sat up in bed at night crying, whimpering prayers to a god he couldn’t understand. He begged for understanding, love, attention, a lover, a savior, a friend. Nothing came of it.

_ Nothing came of it because I threw him away! _

That’s the thought Morty would dwell on daily. He couldn’t stop thinking about Rick. No matter what, the devil was on his mind. He swore it was a curse, that it was influence, but he knew quite well that it was his childish attachments. He clung onto the hope that he could be adored and treated with unconditional mercy, that one day someone would come and brush their lips against his scars. 

And Rick had done that.

But he tossed him aside in a fit of anger.

The devil is a gentleman, and will leave if told to. The catch is, his influence is that of nothing a person has seen before. Because he has many faces, but only one beating heart. Ergo, he takes on the forms of what we desire. He treats us well, and when he leaves, we find ourselves missing him. Because, at our core, we are broken children who need to be seen. To be understood. 

And most of us are denied these basic human rights. 

Eventually, he stopped trying to brush the thoughts away. In a strange form of self harm, Morty allowed himself to think about these things, and promptly consumed the loss that came with it. It made his chest hurt, and a pit in his stomach formed, so he stopped eating. He seldom drank, and yet, an ever flowing stream of water gushed down his gaunt cheeks. The tears he tasted reminded him of bitter herbs he grew up eating, partly partaking in Passover traditions.

It made him want to vomit. 

Morty’s eyes felt bloated from seeping too long in salt. He was losing the holy water inside of himself, the boy felt like he would be crying tears of blood soon enough. Much like Jesus the Christ did in the garden, as they both reflected on the sins of mankind. However, the demigod took on the entirety of the worlds lust and forbidden loves, whereas Morty had only one person to blame. To haunt.

Himself.

_ I’m insignificant_.

And when the nightmares started, oh my _ god _ the _ hurt_.

Except they weren’t nightmares, they were lovely, lovely. And tender, tender. Soft caresses to his cheek and gentle lips molding against his plush ones. The tall demon dressed in black with his shadow eyes adopted Morty’s pain, and took it upon himself to banish it. 

The child could feel sharp canines gently bite into his neck, as well as warm breath on his flushed skin. A delicate pink dusted over his cheeks as his doe eyes fluttered closed, his long eyelashes coated in liquid love. Morty could feel his breath trembling as well as his limbs while strong hands held his small frame. Long, thin fingers threaded through his wild curls as a hand came up to his throat, squeezing softly, not enough to hurt. 

But enough to silently say _ you are mine. _

In the dreams, the child would be misty eyed, pupils blown wide in love and in lust as his vision was hazy with need. He would be kissed all over his dainty body, and then would promptly wake up feeling quite _ weird. _

These dreams felt so real. Too real. It would leave him with an itch, a desire to touch Rick and kiss him until his mouth became sore, deal or not. Many times came where Morty would come close to calling the djinn back over, but each time, he denied himself the pleasure. He would just lie in bed, breath shuddering as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to resume being unconscious. 

This went on every night for another week before he finally cracked and caved in.

Child of weakness is he, as it wasn’t his father that made Morty’s faith falter, but his own. Insults would be thrown haphazardly in the boy’s direction, but somehow, each word would hit his chest, right into his heart.

Summer would pull him aside quietly and ask him if he was alright when Jerry wasn’t around. The two were undeniably close, but seldom talked in public or around their parents. 

_ “Morty, you don’t speak to me anymore. Are you okay? You’ve been ignoring me for a long time and-” _

_ “I’m okay as I can be. And you?” _

_ “Worried about you. I’m worried about you, Morty.” _

Ever since Rick came around, Morty was too afraid to talk to anyone. He was tense as it already was, but hiding that he was infatuated with a demon? That freaked him out. So he only spoke when spoken to, whether it be at school, or at home. Summer had noticed this, as their shared trauma due to their father brought the two extremely close. 

She didn’t accept that. 

Morty’s vision would blur at random times as he was doing homework, learning useless lessons from nuns, praying to his rosary. He found his body to be painfully weak as he had to sit often to avoid collapsing. Morty felt too sick to eat, and felt too much self loathing to even try. He tried to hydrate, but the child’s mind eventually became too cloudy to remember to exercise self care. 

Morty stopped sleeping, or well, did the best he could to avoid the situation. He was exhausted of the dreams regarding Rick, and in another act of self harm, he deprived himself of rest. A poke on the shoulder could make the boy’s body crumble to the ground, and he was quite aware of this.

There was so much pressure to do perfectly in school, but in this bout of hatred directed towards the self, he just couldn’t. Which made Jerry very, _ very _ angry. Everything was falling apart, he felt like he was going insane. Utterly, genuinely insane. 

Morty would see flashes of Rick when passing a crowd, walking home, doing the dishes, it happened daily. He blamed it on sleep deprivation, naturally. Rick probably didn’t even miss him.

  
  
  
  
  


_ Oh. _

That thought brought him down to his knees sobbing. Morty was so broken, so broken. Life was easier when he was being beaten and just oh my fucking _ GOD _ like oh my _ LORD _ I can’t fucking handle this anymore god I need you _ now _ because I’m _ losing it! _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ This isn’t what I wanted. _

  
  
  


His eyes rolled back into his skull as he finally collapsed.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Inhale. _

_ Exhale. _

_ Shudder. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


** _Run with us or run from us_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ I want to see them illuminated in the dark _

_ What we think about ourselves determines what we can do _

_ I can’t feel my shoes because my heels are bleeding happily I’ll drop off. He did not hurt me he didn’t bring harm to no one. Do not think you can waste my time this will not be difficult. And forget me now. Loveless and lost is what they are. Lean into my side. See creation come apart. Trenches are my home he did not hurt me he didn’t bring harm to no one. Regrettably, created in my heart this is no black and white I didn’t I didn’t I didn’t I didn’t I didn’t so don’t think you can raise that child? I love you, alas! My friend, I love you, alas. _

_ There he sits, flowing, waiting _

_ Cherry tree blossoms on blue lake skies _

_ Does Yahweh know how to worship my love? Does he bottle the spilled blood lost on his behalf? _

_ Does he still know the way to my heart after the road became dusty with grief, desolate and then overgrown with needs other than himself? It’s been a long forgotten path, muddy with tears and then promptly dried with dull resolution. _

_ He was remade in his era of absolution _

_ He starves somewhere _

_ He dies _

_ He does not have any lovers _

_ He’s scared _

_ Please see the cigarette ember _

_ This is his kitchen _

_ He wants them to know what he’s done _

_ They are very afraid _

_ I do not have any friends _

_ Everything is clean and comfortable to the touch _

_ I often see people _

_ But they do not look out the window _

_ Because I’m not there _

_ I’m scared _

_ This is his design. _

_ This is his design. _

_ This is his design. _

_ He loves veins and broken things. _

_ This is his design. _

_ What can you do against me? _

_ This is my design. _

_ This is his design. _

_ Now, bring him here. _

_ ;;;; _

_ ((() _

_ “”””””””””””””””””” _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Stop. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Jibaeja.m _

  
  
  


_ Okay! _

  
  
  


_ Look Morty! It’s the coat we bought together. Isn’t that nice? You can really get away with anything you know, my dad once stole a cano in front of everyone because he smiled and was nice and o h oh oh oh oh oh i I i I i h _

_ H _

_ 9999999 _

_ 864909 _

_ 92 _

_ 5 _

_ 3 _

_ it's not my brother it's not my friends it's not my family - he noted how he excluded brother from family _

  
  
  
  


_ 415 _

_ Nothing lasts forever except god his words and the _ ** _souls of men_ **

  
  
  
  
  


_ Morty….? _

_ Morty _

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Morty _

  
  
  
  
  


_ M o r t y _

_ .. _

_ ….. _

_ ………. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Wake up now _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ We’ve been.....watching you _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!! i was finally able to post another chapter!! these might be sporadic, but my ocd has lightened up in some aspects so i took full advantage of that :) 
> 
> next chapter will be focused on rick aaaaand summer !! ALSO there’s guna be more in-depth stuff about morty’s struggles that were in this chapter. it probably seems like i brushed over that, but i’m not.
> 
> i’m really excited y’all, i’m really hopeful that i can continue this story :]


	8. Azlyn

** _A strawberry red blooms on his freckle filled cheeks, his soul is my precious purpose that’s soon to belong solely to me. He gives me a reason to enjoy the sun, the globe in the sky that attempts to tan my corpse._ **

** _He smiles shyly at me, so I flick his nose to distract him. I don’t want him to see my face, as perhaps warm heat flushes the skin ever so slightly. It feels weird. I don’t quite like the feeling. And I refuse to get used to it._ **

** _With an effort so inane, it holds hatred in my veins. This clogs the tubes with clots of black, water and blood stirring in the mix. But holy tenderness touches my heart, and it jumpstarts my system, shocking me into a new creature. _ **

** _My hands ache and tremble with the need to hold his decadent frame, and I’ve thought about ripping my nails off to give me a reason not to behold my empty hands. I find them ugly without him threading his fingers through mine._ **

** _It’s embarrassing, but the kid has been on my mind more recently. Obviously it’s just a draw to his soul, not his person._ **

** _Obviously._ **

** _But he knows of my sin, never again will he let me in._ **

_ “You’re ruining men!” _

** _So I told him, and I told him once, I’ll tell him. And I told him!_ **

** _Look at yourself in the mirror, and think about those you’ve let into your heartbeat. Stare a bit more, and tell me, how could you love a dead god instead of me?_ **

** _I deserved the angry words he gave me, but he deserved the nightmares I placed at his bedroom door._ **

** _There exists a star above that looks down on me, and doesn’t care. But my possession has led the wise men to their death, and instead, led _ ** _ me _ ** _ towards salvation. It’s a war on my own horror, he made me ponder love, but he’s just another who caused me grief._ **

** _The lonely darkness that’s inside of me._ **

** _This hunger, this hunger! It leaves me empty like _ ** _ I am the heartless._

** _A young soul verses my corrupted one. Nature against nurture, he’s the only one I want to touch. But I caress his cheek harshly, a verbal slap that he doesn't understand as I then kiss the wound on his soft skin._ **

** _I will change._ **

** _So I pray to Mother Mary, the only woman that’s showed me affection. The deified lady I hold so dear. The lovely mother I’ve always idolized, wanting her gentle touches and good graces. And she told me._ **

** _Give up._ **

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


** _I need you back._ **

  
  
  
  
  
  


Rick refused to acknowledge it, but he was...sulking. At first, he understood. And then, he was _ annoyed. _

He could understand how the child was scared of him. Terrified, even. But Rick _ knew _ that Morty needed him. They already had a bond, and the boy clung onto the demon like how Yahweh clings to power.

The two are inseparable. 

So what the hell was taking Morty so long to come crawling back? He’s had a taste of salvation but refused to wean off of his father’s lies. And the boy didn’t know which father he was talking about. The child was a bumbling idiot who doesn’t know what he has unless it slaps him upside the head. Rick could only imagine how miserable he was without the devil, and that gave him slight satisfaction. 

But as time went on, the satisfaction turned to confusion. It had been a week with no call, not even a small prayer directed towards anyone. Rick was bored out of his mind, he was desperate for attention and purpose.

So he went about, fucking other humans. It wasn’t hard, someone was always willing. But their souls stunk, and had little value. Rick claims to be brutally self aware, as his pomposity has an almost physical aura, but he’s unaware of some things about himself _ because _of his arrogance and narcissism. 

He was completely unaware that he was having sex with boys that looked similar to Morty. Way too similar. And then it all hit him at once, as he was caught up in pleasure, that he seemed to moan a _ certain name_, which made the human underneath him spit curses. 

Well, shit.

** _So this is an issue._ **

He sighed, rolling his eyes as he sat boredly on the edge of the mattress while the person yelled nonsense at him, borderline hysterical while getting dressed. Rick pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to avoid the thoughts that were trying to make themselves known and acknowledged. 

This was a wake up call that he was subconsciously ignoring.

Sitting back, he lit a cigarette, and thought to himself as the boy had stormed out.

It was only a week, and he wasn’t doing well without Morty’s presence. Why?

**His soul, obviously.**

Rick would have stopped right there and patted himself on the back for the conclusion, but something was stirring inside of him other than blood and venom. The devil took a long drag, wisps of smoke billowing around his pale face as he exhaled through his nose and mouth. He let himself ponder freely, as he was healthy enough to explore possibilities. Only because nothing truly troubled him, as the man was emotionally stunted. If anything, it brought slight discomfort or a watered down version of worry. 

Rick flicked the butt of his cigarette, ash falling to the ground. It couldn’t be his personality, no.

The child was cowardly, too timid, fragile both emotionally and physically. He was too young to realize the danger in playing this game.

Fragile.

Young.

The djinn had an obvious obsession with control. The child only came up to his chest, the power imbalance there was enough to attract his ego.

_ He _ was the bigger one. The stronger one. Rick would gently hold Morty’s thin wrists, his large, firm hand keeping the boy’s shaking body steady. Everything about him was delicate. He was small, dainty, perfectly breakable. 

He had big, brown eyes that were paired with long, feminine eyelashes. His hands were small and as weak as his frame. And his face was...interesting, to say the least. When he smiled, he’d reveal his crooked teeth, which were oddly charming. His button nose _ was _ quite fun to flick when Rick was amused. 

He was always blushy around the djinn, the boy flustered whenever Rick kissed him. The devil thought he’d get used to the feeling, but Morty never did. He’d look up at Rick with his pretty doe eyes and beheld him like he had hung the moon. 

He was easily impressed. Rick huffed. 

He refused to acknowledge that Morty would probably act like that with anyone, because Rick was the best there's ever been. There’s only one of him in a sea of common faces and attitudes. Rick was _ unique, _one of a kind. 

The only one. It was indeed lonely, being the only one. The only one, and he was indeed lonely. 

Of course _ Morty _ would become attached to him. No one has ever loved the kid before, and no one ever will. He was the loveless lost he felt within. Rick refused to think that he needed him back. It was delusional, and being a man of logic, he dismissed the thought immediately. 

_ So why did he miss him so terribly? _

Physical attraction at best, codependent obsession at worst. Rick’s head was so far up his ass that he refused to admit that he had a craving for his blood, for his lips, his essence as a whole. He didn’t want to think that Morty was appealing, as he was a mere human, whereas the devil was a demonic god. 

He huffed, checking his nails. Rick held a certain level of disdain on multiple reasons from the situation. One, Morty simply wasn’t intelligent. There would be no battle of two mental titans, no fun to be had over this. The child was simplistic, opaque in personality and being. There were no tricks up his sleeve, no game of chess to be played. He was pretty, but stupid. How disappointing. 

Two, why did he find himself missing- no, _ no, _not missing. Needing…? No! Absolutely not. 

Craving…?

Craving. He found himself craving the boy. His human being was that of nicotine, it made him feel stable when they were together. It felt right in a way. His body could relax.

But much like how Morty would become ridiculously flustered around the devil, Rick’s heart would beat a little too hard around the kid, the two never quite getting used to the other. They were both so enticing to the other for the most opposite reasons imaginable. 

This human filth had some type of hold on him, he reluctantly admitted that. I mean, it could be that, the kid saw him as a person. Not an object. He looked upon him with tenderness and affection, not with lust and hidden motives. Hm. 

It had been so foreign to him that it made Rick sick. It made him feel almost...offended. Was he not attractive enough to the child? How could he not be crawling all over him? The devil took another drag and sighed, smoke puffing from his warm lips. No, that made him feel and seem _ insecure_. The demon was anything but that. He wasn’t needy for his attention, so why did he feel empty without it?

_ He _was the one always in control of every little thing. And Morty happily gave him control. So this didn’t make sense. And he didn’t like things not making sense to him. 

Fuck this. It was annoying to think about, and it was giving him a headache. 

** _So what do I do now? _ **

  
  
  
  


He tapped his fingers on his thigh repetitively, gnawing gently on his bottom lip. He _ could _ check on Morty.

Obviously to see how miserable he was without him. Not to make sure that he was okay.

Rick smiled to himself. That was a solution he could feel good about. So he put out his cigarette, got dressed, and went on his way. 

It took a couple moments, but he spawned quietly into Morty’s house. He looked around, noting that it was quiet as he walked about. It was about five in the human realm, the child was probably doing homework alone. 

So he made way towards Morty’s room, but was promptly stopped in an unexpected way.

Summer gasped loudly, dropping the papers that were in her delicate hands. Her breath shuddered as she eyed up the devil, the old man furrowing his eyebrows, looking displeased. There was no way she could see him, he wasn’t visible to the human eye. He checked behind him, maybe Jerry was spooking her.

But there was no one behind him.

He turned back, the girl hyperventilating slightly as she curled her fists into shaking balls. Fuck. He had to play cool because she could _ definitely _see him. Rick couldn’t dwell on “how?”, he had to deal with what was currently happening.

He cleared his throat, trying to sound as inviting as possible. 

“Hello, sweetie.”

Making proper eye contact with her, he had a view of her soul, and it brought him delight to see it slaughtered like a lamb in his mind. 

It looked...unique. He admitted this.

An amalgamation of broken pieces glued together as one being with determination. The will to live, and the fight that comes with it. She wasn’t a scared little girl anymore, she wanted vengeance. Retribution for her mother and her brother, she wanted to wring Jerry’s neck, pluck out his eyes like grapes and tear his filthy tongue from his mouth.

He saw these scenarios, and he grinned. 

The girl looked like she was about to cry. But she didn’t take her eyes off of him, unlike her little brother when they had first met. 

“Why are you here?” Summer said, shockingly collected as her voice didn’t waver. 

He smiled softly, panicking slightly as he had no idea this would happen. This was a pleasant surprise, the devil wouldn’t complain. He had to think of an excuse quickly, something believable. She seemed much smarter than Morty, and less to believe a bullshit lie. 

“Well.” Rick cleared his throat quietly. “I come on account of your father, Jerry. This dream he had-”

“That was you, wasn’t it.” Summer said flatly, bending down to collect her papers.

The devil looked unimpressed, but his eyebrows raised. He exhaled heavily through his nose and cocked his head.

“Well, every human has a guardian angel. Why not a guardian demon? It makes sense to me, at least.” He purred, smiling again as he looked down on her.

“So who do you belong to?” Summer asked, raising herself up again as she clutched her papers.

“Well, you, sweetie.” Rick flicked her nose, which earned a very bad reaction, and he was soon to see that she was _ very _different than her brother.

“**Don’t ** touch me **again**.” Summer growled, fire in her eyes that completely depleted the shock. This took Rick slightly aback, but he recovered quickly. 

“My apologies, dear.” He said quite insincerely.

“You never answered my question. Why are you here.” Summer looked up at him coldly, and it made his skin crawl from how sinister her gaze was.

“All the negativity your father brings, it’s bound to attract us. Where demons go, angels come to clean up the fall out. In this case, I’ve come to see what kind of wreckage was left behind.”

It was vague, but seemed enough for the human for the moment.

“So what’s your name?” Summer looked up at him, and Rick could see curiosity.

“Rick.” He smiled a toothy smile. This didn’t phase her.

“I mean your _ real _ name.”

Rick’s lip twitched ever so slightly. He cleared his throat again, clasping his hands together.

“...Azlyn. I’m the demon that weaves the threads of things to come. A demon of the west.”

He wasn’t satisfied he had thrown another djinn under the bus, but the old man supposed that Summer wasn’t a demonolater. There was no way in hell that she would know the name he just spoke of. He shrugged off the stupid excuse, and tried to change the subject as best he could. 

“And what’s your name?” Rick asked, pretending to be interested.

“None of your fucking business.”

As he opened his mouth to be snarky, a door beside them creaked open, and Morty stepped out.

“Summer?” He whimpered quietly, scanning her face. “What’s wrong?”

And this is where the cat got her tongue. 

“You look pale.” Morty furrowed his eyebrows. The girl’s gaze quickly snapped over to Rick, who was staring at Morty.

She noticed how his hands trembled as did his breath. It was subtle, but quite noticeable to someone who’s actually observant. He blinked rapidly, although his face was completely stone. But his lip twitched, giving himself away. He had subconsciously stepped forwards, then had quickly taken a step back, controlling himself again in his slip up. 

Rick’s fingers twitched at his sides as he gulped, completely fixated on the child. Summer looked back at Morty, who just seemed confused, and completely naive.

“S-Summer?” He questioned weakly, and she was surprised that he couldn’t see the abomination to her left.

“Mhm?” Summer hummed, grinding her teeth. 

“I-I was just waiting for you to come back and help with homework, you were gone for a while so…” 

Summer looked back over at Rick, who was breathing raggedly, albeit softly. 

“Give me one moment, okay?” She smiled as best as she could, which Morty copied with his delicate facial features. He closed the door, leaving her alone with Rick again.

Her eyes snapped towards the old man, who was just wistfully staring at the door.

“What is your obsession with my brother?” She whispered harshly, crossing her arms.

Rick quickly got ahold of himself and regained his gaze with Summer.

“What? I don’t know who that is.” He said innocently, but his face was stoic to hide his need.

He was afraid that somehow she was able to hear his heartbeat as it was pounding in his ears like Christ being nailed to the cross. It was all he could concentrate on other than Morty himself, and it was crumbling his composure.

“That’s a lie.” She hissed coldly. “Are you here for Morty?”

He simply shook his head, not trusting his voice to speak for the first time in a century. 

“I told you, I’m here for you. I’ve answered your prayers, dear. I’m here to help.” He smiled, but it looked off.

“Don’t call me pet names.” She demanded quietly, and Rick decided not to push it. 

“I’m going to go help my brother with his homework. Leave us alone.” She glared, subconsciously touched her rosary, and Rick cocked his head.

She was scared, not angry. 

So he would give her reasons not to be afraid of him.

Wait.

Oh. 

_ Oh, _this could work out. New ideas were storming in his mind, connecting, evil being concocted. His plan had been altered, and with his impulsive nature, he decided to go with it. He had this idea in the back of his mind that he could orchestrate everything, and not get caught. But the thrill of potentially being caught, that’s what made it fun. 

Her soul was unique, divided, it would be a nice addition to his collection. She seemed smarter than Morty by far, so it seemed like a fair fight. Finally. Finally. This is what he needed. Rick wasn’t bored anymore. 

He would make them puppets in the palm of his hands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! my ocd is really good today so i managed to finish this chapter! :] i hope it’s okay <3 there’s a new twist on it i’m hoping y’all can enjoy. and thank you guys so much for the positive comments! your kind words mean everything to me.


	9. Belial

**It may be thou shalt we be**

  
**And ye?**

  
**Are everlasting**   
  


**Are ye happy?  
  
**

**We are mighty**   
  


**Are ye happy?  
  
**

**No: art thou?**

It’s in our nature to hide our nature for those who we try to impress.

And so he cut his unkempt curls, his wild hair reflecting his calling within the roots from his headache head.

And so he put flowers in his shirt pockets, in his belt loops, behind an ear, just to smell a little bit better.

And so he wore more layers, hiding his thin frame and his purple skin. 

He thought by this, he could find someone to love him. 

But he hid his face, and found an enemy in the reflection of his tears. Surfaces that reflect the person seeing in happens to be the hardest poetry to write, and also the most mundane. 

Ergo, it’s seldom written, never touched, and when it is, it’s cyclical. 

He glared at himself in the mirror, twitching his nostrils, blinking rapidly. The pathetic, _broken_ boy in the mirror can’t keep up, hurry before he realizes he’s being watched. 

And he says to him, in a voice so miraculous, curses set upon his human being.

I SWEAR TO GOD I’LL REPLACE YOU WITH ME

COME A LITTLE CLOSER

MY HANDS MAY BE BRITTLE AND CHILD LIKE

BUT I STRIKE WITH THE FORCE OF A JÖTUN

A HUNGRY MONSTER OF A HUMAN CAN NEVER BE LOVED

NOR BE REVERED AS A SAINT

DIE DIE **DIE**

I only want to sing you to sleep. My vocal chords may be hoarse from screaming to a father I can’t cope with, but my heart strings compose a miraculous tune. 

I can suffer with the worthless ones because I’m the worst of them all. _I can’t stop feeling sorry for myself!_ It leaves me reeling, this sickening thought process that I’m experiencing. It makes me vomit up the multiple lunches of wafers I’ve had.

And I lay there, face down on the floor, licking bile up from the ground. I’m so hungry, I hope the acid burns my throat and chokes me until I die. I scrub my pale arm with the scissors I used to cut my hair, as I attempt to meet my end.

Greater men have tried and failed, so I can’t feel as bad. I paid a penny for my god but gave up my life savings for a communion wafer with wine. 

Isn’t it interesting, isn’t it interesting! That your soul claims your body, but ultimately, it returns to the ground in the form of mold and dust. Your being belongs to the earth, but your soul belongs to a faceless god. And he is faceless. 

I am just a beast of burden. I can be ignored, I can be cast aside like cheap lots. Or, I could be used for a greater purpose to my creator.

Maybe I’m a means to an end. My life is only important to a love of mine, a friend of another. My purpose is only a use for glorifying someone else. They’re the bigger picture, but I’m the god damn paint brush! God is the artist, and he uses me to warn the others of his divine wrath. Does this make sense to you? Because it makes sense to me_. _

I think I know everything, but like a man with the heart of someone like myself once said, we know that we know nothing. 

We know that we know nothing_. _

_ **Sorrow sweeps through my mind’s house in preparation for happiness** _

_ **And with hallowed peace comes a certain bliss** _

_ **I've been thinking about what I don't have ** _

_**And now it feels as though I'll never have enough ** _

_ **Such a sick mentality to have** _

_ **What’s normal to me is horror to the hell spawns that are chronically beneath me** _

_ **The ungodly wrath that’s inside of me** _

_ **But he makes me feel like a person. A human. Capable of love and being loved.** _

_ **Praise be to god for this indescribable gift** _

_ **And so the sun yet again fell down from the skies, but he’s so scared of the night. And he’s still waiting for things to get better, and like the love he deserves, the stars still try to shine despite being drowned out when nothing's right. ** _

_ **We, too, require darkness to be presented in our purest form** _

_ **He was stuffed full of love that filled every crevasse in him** _

_maybe I am like laika, sent by my masters for a greater purpose —_

_but the truth is,_

_maybe I am just a dead dog_

**I can still hear his voice in my death rattle**

Summer watched Morty very carefully after her encounter with Rick. She observed his behavior, his subtle actions, and she didn’t like it. Not one bit. Seemingly out of the blue, he stopped eating. Stopped showering, stopped doing his homework by himself, stopped caring. He just seemed empty.

Lifeless.

Could it be Rick? Summer shuddered to think that some kind of monster was messing with her little brother. He was easy to manipulate, and she knew Morty’s faith in a divine being was faltering over time. 

It could be depression, but this seemed like something more. Something sinister. And she found herself thinking about the demon quite often after that day. 

She tried to talk to her brother, but he trembled as his voice shook, telling her to _please leave me alone._ Perhaps Jerry was beating him again. Perhaps he was being bullied relentlessly at school once more. Perhaps the nuns wove loveless rhetoric into his impressionable mind. Perhaps, perhaps, _perhaps_.

Different scenarios danced around in her head, and in a beautiful display, they revealed insidious nature. She had the tendency to revel in gorgeous splendor within herself, despite her roots being trampled by her father. But she was a seed, meant to meet the heavens in a sloppy kiss, and would keep on growing no matter the cost. In courageous bouts of misdemeanor in the household, she made it clear that_ he will not divide us_. 

Bitterness taints the meat, it ruins its supple appeal. But, like the humble bumble bee, she was filled with sweetness in every ounce of her human being. She shared her tenderness with everyone she meets, blessing them as her saints have done, making enemies make amends and lovers meet. Dove feathers graced her wild hair as honey oozed past her golden tongue, seeping into soft skin, healing. Milk drizzled from her eyelashes, sticking to her cheeks like wax as her open mouth vomited up rose petals in a wonderful display of divinity. Her eyes glowed in the moonlight as she cried, wishing as she wasted away her youth. Like a copy of Mother Mary, she holds the hands of the broken, the damned find forgiveness in her comfort, she cried for them, she blessed them, she fed them. She anoints them into brotherhood, as we are _nothing_ without our brothers. 

We know where to go, and yet we follow those with their eyes closed. But with an effort so inane, _this is adoration in her veins!_ She leads them, she is steadfast, she paves the way towards bliss. 

She is the _woman in the mirror_. In her reflection, what does she see? Her divine Mother, no false faults, but a _masterpiece_. A priceless work of art starts from a single soul splattered on a canvas, we are mad. We are in love! We are, tender in our sadness. We are lovely, lovely. We are passion, we are the hope, we are mighty, mighty. We are soil and blood, not false confessions.

We are alive. 

**We are proud to be human.**

And we will not reap destruction. Death stared her in the face, **and it blinked first. **

She’s walked the bed of disturbed unrest, her feet bleed for her brother as she treads through her father’s anger. We are family. 

We are family.

She strives to teach what she has learned.

And she wakes to find the change is inside her. 

In your reflection, what do you see? 

An empty cup, or a masterpiece? 

Morty sees himself as a glass half empty, disregarding the content taking up the space in the cup. 

He felt like his soul has slipped out of his body, surreptitiously at first, then all at once. There’s something missing inside of him, something reverend, something that makes him human. His heart burns like Joan of Arc, but instead of holy prophecies he speaks, he talks in tongues only known and understood by demented demons. His stature is crumbling like a child caught in a lie, and instead of pointing the finger at himself as he should, he blames not Rick, but God. His tears became icy, shards of water and glass pierce his eyes as they bleed in repetition. He refuses repentance, the child defiant, blaming the Father. He refuses to pray, refuses to sup, refuses to sleep and he’s quite had enough.

Like a petulant child, he blames everyone but himself.

He’s become bitter towards his Creator, he spits out the harsh tasting herbs blessed by the sacred Passover. Instead of his blood he smears on the doorframe, he’d like for it to be Jerry’s. The angel of death, passing from house to house, Morty wishes he would stop by, and kiss him tenderly. His tongue intertwines with the serpent, he’s been corrupted from the inside, and now he sees this. 

And like the snake he holds up so high in reverence, he strikes without a purpose. He became snappy towards Summer in bouts of misdemeanor, making it clear that _she will not divide us._

He wanted Rick back. And there was comfort in self harm. 

Morty’s eyes grew wide and his heart beat too fast as he thought he saw Rick passing the hallways in his school. He looked for him in every corner, but found nothing, and his feelings were hurt every time. 

It was so hard to concentrate in school when he thought he kept seeing the demon everywhere. Nun’s would ask him questions in each class and he simply couldn’t answer, he made a fool out of himself daily, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t afford to. 

Rick was the only one he wanted. The boy didn’t pay attention to girls anymore, and this realization didn’t sit well with him. He wasn’t...gay. God doesn’t make mistakes like that. So he would stare wistfully at Jessica, but nothing came of it. No butterflies, no day dreams, no intention of even speaking to her. 

He couldn’t be gay, Morty eventually had to settle down with a girl and have a family. Obviously this was...influence. Somehow. Even though the devil was gone, perhaps he was still manipulating him in a way. That’s all there was to it. But it made him sick to think that he would have to be with a girl one day.

It always did.

He pushed that thought away immediately. He wasn’t gay. He just wasn’t. There was no way God would hurt him like that. God loves him.

And God doesn’t make mistakes.

That’s against his nature. He just doesn’t make mistakes. That’s all there is to it. 

So why did he feel this way? The devil was the only one he wanted, the only man he wanted to kiss, to hold, to be with. This was sickening to him. So when he got home, he took his pointed crucifix, and dug it into his palm. Every time he’d have certain thoughts about the djinn, he would inflict injuries on himself to atone for his sins. He thought by this, he could cleanse himself of these feelings, and that God would reward him with normalcy. 

The child went on bouts of hating God, to begging for forgiveness that he clearly didn’t deserve. It was a vicious cycle that left his throat dry and petrified from wailing and weeping. All this conspiracy within himself, contradictory feelings, he couldn’t cope. _And I promise I won’t lie. _

Morty was going to be upfront to the Father about his feelings. He couldn’t hide from God, he knew this. Because God knows everything, and as an idiot human, he couldn’t mask what he was doing. In fact, he shuddered to think that Yahweh was pissed at him for even trying to hide his insidious nature. It was another vicious cycle that left him drowning on dry land, his tears choking the life out of him. 

Meanwhile, Summer wasn’t doing too well herself during these times. Rick was currently following her around in school, he was silent at first in his approach, now he was incapable of shutting the hell up.

_“Why do you keep following me around so freaking quietly! Just say something or leave me alone!”_

She regretted saying that, because now, everyday, he would talk to her like they were friends. 

“You know, I can settle things with your father, right? I can make it like he never existed.”

“Fun.” She muttered, opening her locker. 

Summer happened to glance over, the girl’s breath stuttering for a second before she nervously shoved books into the small space.

Rick raised an eyebrow, then looked over two lockers down. 

Ah.

He looked back over at Summer, the devil noticing the soft pink gracing her cheeks. He smiled coyly, tilting his head, his eyes half lidded.

“What’s her name?”

“Hm?”

“The girl you have a crush on.” 

Summer’s cheeks heated up, a rosy red blossoming on her soft skin. She shook her head, muttering a curse as she closed her locker, avoiding Rick’s smug face. 

“Well?”

“H-Her name is...Jessica, okay? Happy?” She glared at Rick, the old man looking delighted.

“Well, well, well. When did this happen?” He asked, pestering her.

Summer was silent for a moment, gnawing on her bottom lip. 

“Since I was a little kid.” She admitted, sighing softly, surprisingly open. 

Rick smiled, this time genuinely. The week he had been bugging Summer, she finally cracked and exposed herself. This was progress.

“Tell me about her.” His voice was soft, inviting.

Summer tried to hide the awkward grin on her face. 

“Her hair is always so pretty, it looks so soft and I wish I could run my fingers through it.” She blurted, blushing wildly. “I just want to hold her stupid hand and- I don’t know.” Summer sighed, grimacing.

“Do these thoughts bother you?” Rick asked quietly.

“They used to, a lot. They don’t anymore, though.”

“And why not?”

“Because I’ve lost my faith in God. If he doesn’t make mistakes, then why am I gay, you know? It was a weird revelation, finding out I’m not into boys at all. I felt bad, sure, but over time I knew I couldn’t change. So what’s the point in hating myself for something I can’t control?”

“I don’t really believe in God, or at least, the version that we’re taught of him. I mean, you exist.” Summer motioned towards him, continuing her rambling. “So I’m assuming he exists as well.”

“I believe that every religion has validity to it. Most religions, anyway. I mean, why are we the only one that’s right? Why can’t everyone be right? I dunno, it makes sense to me, at least.”

Rick nodded, pleasantly surprised in her wisdom. He kept quiet, letting her open up more.

“I don’t feel bad about being gay anymore, I just...it’s dangerous to open up about it, you know? My parents would kill me.” She sighed, rolling her eyes. “But! I’ve found other girls that are gay in this school.” 

“Oh?” Rick questioned, genuinely curious. 

“Yeah, there’s actually a ton of kids here that aren’t straight.” 

The devil pondered his next words for a moment.

“Do you think your brother is gay?”

“Oh, Morty? Absolutely.” 

Rick hummed quietly, stopping outside of a classroom door.

“I’ll wait for you.” He mumbled, a little lost in thought.

And for the first time, Summer smiled at him. She nodded silently, heading on inside. 

_Well_.

His persistence paid off, it seems. She had been a brick wall for a week, paid little attention to him, and was curt in her replies. But he kept pushing, pulling, and was met with satisfaction. He closed his eyes and smiled softly. Good. This was good.

It hadn’t been easy.

So he wouldn’t take on the form of a lover for Summer, but more so a friend, perhaps a father figure. A guide for the girl. But Rick found himself thinking about Morty, wondering how the child was holding up, instead of his new prey. 

His thoughts wandered around his skull, but all points led back to the boy. Rick found himself curious about him, much to his dismay. But he was steadfast, and waited outside the door for Summer like he said he would. 

What was this?

_Codependent obsession_. 

Those words rang in his mind, but he immediately shrugged it off. It was like an itch that he tried to ignore, it was prevalent, and quite uncomfortable. He didn’t care about him. Simple as that. Much like the god Morty worshiped, they simply couldn’t bring themselves to do so.

If the child followed him for too long, he’d surely end up in his arms. For the devil has many needs, and love is the one he pushes far, far away.

**If Yahweh can throw the child away, why can’t I? **

Maybe because God is truly loveless, an alien figure that no human being can relate to. His rules are written with unclean hands, making _us_ out to be the worthless ones. Barely anything is known about this faceless deity, and you couldn’t grow up with His Son in their scripture you read as a kid. No back story was shown, so you simply can’t care. Much like how God doesn’t care about us. We don’t know anything about the other. 

Maybe it’s supposed to be this way. 

But they sing to me, in voices so miraculous, curses set upon their Lord of Lord’s.

VIOLENCE

GIVE ME VIOLENCE

BECAUSE HE CALLS US THE SONS OF BELIAL

SONS OF THE **WORTHLESS**

SONS OF THE **LAWLESS**

**HEAVY LIES THE CROWN AS I CUT YOU DOWN**

  
  
  
  
  
  


But these cries mean nothing to man of rot who has hardened his own heart. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


And I can’t afford to placate.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Time continued on as prophesied, cyclical, the dusks predecessor rose from its daily grave. Summer and Morty were home now as Rick crept into their house. Morty was exhausted, he saw this. Did it worry him? No.

Well...maybe a little.

Rick determined that he was slightly worried because maybe he...wasn’t fit to...make deals with him at the moment. Sure. Obviously. It’s not like he cared. He grimaced at the thought of it. 

He shrugged off the feeling of the void he suffered that was a curse forever _bleeding inside_. He viewed his heart as a necessary organ, not something divine. Not something to romanticize.

Not I. 

_Not I_. 

This was an itch. But he backstabbed and burned that which he was to protect. He bit the hand that fed him. And now he suffered the consequence of digging a grave for the child he was called to love. Sing me a new song, a song of love and tender touches.

Sing me a new song.

And pray for mercy to be blessed upon the loveless lost you feel within, conciliatory in a decadent manor. 

Something was _stirring inside of him_. What will the children sing when he’s the one who loses _his_ soul? Who, in all of humanity, prayed for the devil? The sinner who needs it the most?

Could it be that he cares?

Not I.

_Not I._

He turned his back on his brothers climbing up the stairs to forgiveness for a heaven that shouldn’t exist. 

He won’t quietly sit and choose_ not to be moved._

So he crumbles their Towers of Babel, speaking in a myriad of tongues to tasteless followers who think only of themselves. He makes a change. He is steadfast. He rules his kingdom with an iron fist and he makes it a point to say that _he will be the one to divide them. _

How quick we choose to forget that everyone deserves mercy. This is senseless injustice that we bestow upon the people we’re called to love. 

The nightmares he placed outside of Morty’s bedroom door was doing wonders for his haunting. But it seemed too effective, as he beheld the boy in front of him crumbling to the ground in a bout of unconsciousness. 

Rick couldn’t say why his heart sank and his chest got tight, but he found himself quickly advancing towards his child, but was beat by Summer. He quickly kneeled beside her, boney hands trembling ever so slightly.

He looked over, and was amazed that she seemed to have everything together. Summer put her ear up to his face, hearing faint puffs of air inhale and exhale through his nostrils. The girl put her hand on Morty’s heart, feeling the beat, and sighed softly in relief. 

“Well.” Summer gnawed on her bottom lip. “From what I can say, I think sleep deprivation and a lack of nutrients got to him.” She looked over at Rick, whose face was stoic, but his mind was racing.

**This isn’t what I wanted.**

But didn’t he wish for this to happen? To ruin Morty’s life simply because he was bored? This made a pit form in his stomach, he felt uncomfortable. He felt…

Remorse.

But why now? Why not earlier? The devil looked over the boy’s face, and noted how it had blanched over the past two weeks. There were dark, bruise looking marks smudged underneath his eyes and his face looked gaunt. He scanned Morty’s face, his mouth twitching slightly as he saw he had cut his hair. 

Rick didn’t like it. 

He cupped the child’s cheek, subconsciously rubbing soft circles on the skin. He looked down on his face, a dull pain in his chest. And he couldn’t say why.

He couldn’t say why.

This was too much. He quickly retracted his hand, his inhale sharp as he stood up quickly. 

“I’m leaving.” The old man said in a terse tone. 

“Why?” Summer questioned, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t you care about-”

“Why would I _possibly_ care about your brother?” Rick sneered. “The little brat brought this upon himself. He’s so fucking dramatic it- it makes me sick.” He snarled, glaring at her with his dark eyes.

She just looked up at him, scanning his body language. His fingers were forming into fists, his body trembling as his voice was harsh and spiteful.

Summer knew Rick expected her to retort, but she kept quiet. The djinn was an angry man, much like her father, and it was best just to not say anything. It was a good idea to let them exhaust themselves in yelling, and to be left alone for a while. 

She just shrugged at him, an irritated growl rising in his throat. With what little pride he had left, Rick left in a huff. 

This was stupid.

_He_ was stupid.

The devil didn’t like this feeling in his chest. It felt hollow, and honesty, there’s no beautiful or gentle way to describe guilt. For someone who doesn’t feel it, vague descriptions don’t do it justice.

It just feels bad.

And he hurts everyone around him. There’s nothing poetic about that.

And Morty believes in him still. That’s a lot of trust for a faulty person. Very few understand the meaning, but we all experience the feeling. 

And what echoes in Rick’s mind are tidbits of the child’s thoughts, the rawness he seeks inside humanity.

_I love you_

_that’s all there is to it_

_I’m in love with you_

_so why is there so many complications?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> howdy! i’m glad to have finished this up, i’m not super proud of this chapter, but i hope y’all like it :p i added in some phrases that mean a lot to me, i was actually thinking of tattooing the phrase “heavy lies the crown as i cut you down” somewhere on me. that quote means a lot to me. anyways, feel free to leave comments and kudos!


	10. Buer

He has his grandmothers veins in the back of his hands. 

Worn, but not broken, cyclical. Feeble, the child falls when he should run. Is he worth any reassurance? Is he worth the heavenly assemblage praying and fasting for him? The divine cup overflows, and it is flowing. 

He has a null tongue that hasn’t been used in quite some time, only exercising itself when spoken to first. And what’s engraved on the buds is a simple phrase, a call for help, and it says: _ we was beat when we was born. _

And he has eyes! He has, eyes, that are permanently blurred from the tears swarming his vision like angry hornets. Puddles in his whites, wettening the red veins surfacing from lack of sleep. 

The wendigo spirit kindles inside of his sense of self. So in return his senses are turned dull, and what he craves now is warm flesh. He wants his human body back, skinwalker he is, he buries himself in boy’s clothing, absorbing the old personality that belonged to the owner. It’s uncanny to see, this shell of a human he once was. Nothing is real. Nothing is right. 

He writes poetry in his stupid journal that doesn’t make sense to anyone but himself. His hand aches as the pen strokes the paper violently, scribbling a cacophony of unique phrases emerging from a burdened soul. It bit his tongue and troubled his hands as they shook, but he had a taste of rejection from his djinn and wasn’t too fond of the flavor, so he threw it up on the page.

_ My being is an ocean but my heart is offshore. Sometimes I talk to myself, and try to convince myself that the shadow man isn’t real. If I talk about him, he’ll surely hear me. So I’ll be quiet from now on. I cannot reread this passage for fear that he’ll find me. _

_ I humbly offered him my heart, he didn’t want it. But he eventually stole it away when I wasn’t looking, he replaced the organ with his evil. And now my soul has swept out from my human being like loose hair I pull when I run a hand through it. Souls all match the same like the follicles on my head, I’m just another one in a countless, raging sea. But it was mine. He preached the words of love and fire and left me burning alive as he hung me by my neck. And I found irony in the rotted tree, dead as the love between him and me. And my heart says to me in a voice so foreign but comforting, let there be might. _

_ All hail the father, forever trying to separate you and me. _

As if he practiced arriving he shuddered at his own words. Returning to the reason his heart beat would be hard, reckless. He wanted the devil back, but at what cost? 

It’s no secret they don’t want him around. And I’ve found myself writing about stars, glass, tears, eyes, organs, and all of it says to me...it says...that I value the universe in my reflection. That I, I am the titan in the sky. And I see that looking in the mirror. It is simply understood. 

_ There’s a reason we don’t want you around. _

Never open your heart to someone who isn’t completely tied to it. That’s a life lesson he learned the hard way. But our hearts are the only one we can truly understand, because understanding people isn’t hard, it’s impossible. 

He thought about scrounging up his dirty pennies to buy a cheap envelope to mail his love letter in, saying _ I need you back. _

But in bouts of defiance against the darkness, it left him bitter like the herbs he consumed at the Passover meal. _ Let’s hash this out like two men. _

If you want to talk like a man, then be a man. 

Because I’ve been sleeping on a blood covered mattress. 

A once straight spine now a crooked line, small fractures turning to canyons along the ridges of white. Meat and blood coincided naturally as bone wraps up the trio quite nicely. Those things are what make us human, what connects us together as we are. The world is made up of meat, our blood tastes sweet and our bones are used in rituals to talk to us one last time after death. 

Rage make the heart beat but grief makes the bend in my knees. I crumble to the ground crippled like a moth swatted out of air. 

You’ve embraced this.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t cut my wrists so I tried to swallow the razors instead, so when I opened my mute mouth to speak, at least something would come up. Stringy things and the spawning point of broken promises become clumped in my throat. My jugular has punctures, my life emptying me from the inside. Red is passion, red is love, red represents my heart, red is anger, and red appears in beads that trace my neck. Slitting my own throat seems a better fit, because I can’t bring myself to say sorry when you’re clutching my frame on the bathroom floor.

I wouldn’t be able to tell you that I’m sorry for getting blood on your clean shirt.

And I don’t want those to be my last words. Something so _ me, _it’s sickening, the thoughts that I’m feeling. 

  
  


You don’t know if I’m asleep or dead.

  
  


Please love me back…

  
  
  
  
  
  


What happened to us?

I thought we were best friends.

Goodnight.

  
  
  
  


**I’ve found someone who makes me feel like sunlight**

**It feels divine, the feeling of the dawn aching to meet the day**

**There are teeth in the backyard **

**and white tongues wagging when I look up at the skies and behold the face of Yahweh**

**Rose petal perfume stains my hands, I’ve collected enough worthless pennies to mail you a love letter that says ** ** _I’m sorry_ **

**It masks the copper smell**

**I look out the window and realize **

**that you’re not there**

**My shirt unbuttoned, chest exposed, the dogs were hungry**

**And they sing softly that they’ll love me if I wait for them to change**

**But God has created a monster inside of me**

**Why should we apologize for being created in that way?**

**They tear into me, feeble Jezebel, beautiful though bloody, and they eat my heart**

**My hands remember his and they sting with hot tears as I cover my face and cry **

**Without a heart now, you must think I have gone mad, but I have evolved into a stronger man **

**Never again will I let someone in**

**Does that sound like the words of a mad man?**

**Perhaps**

**But I will not placate the wild dogs**

  
  
  
  
  


I won’t conform to what I see in you 

I won’t surrender who I am 

What will the children sing when I nail your coffin shut for the last time?

  
  


**Not I**

** _Not I_ **

  
  


Morty could have sworn he heard Rick’s voice in his bout of unconsciousness, but he must have been mistaken when he opened his eyes and saw his big sister hovering over him. Alone. 

“Thank God.” She breathed, bowing her head slightly in relief, or perhaps repentance.

“What-” He whimpered weakly, clearing his throat. “What h’pp’nd?” Morty mumbled, slightly dazed as he was struggling to find his voice. 

“You passed out, dummy.” Summer emitted a breathy laugh that was slightly laced with apprehension.

She smiled softly down at him, and he copied her facial features onto his own. 

“You okay?” She murmured, barely able to run her fingers through his short hair. “I see you’ve made some...changes.”

“Mm? Oh, yeah. Uhm.” He shrugged a little, avoiding her eyes. “I needed a change, I suppose.” 

“I think we both do.” She whispered brokenly, her inhale shaky as she bit her trembling bottom lip.

He’s rarely seen her break down before, as she had enough strength for the both of them. Seeing Summer like this, because of him, was devastating. His eyes manifested salted water, copying his sister’s grief, and they both wept softly, completely open.

“What happened to you?” She breathed, a soft whimper escaping her.

“I-I really couldn’t say.” He shook his head. “I stare at the wall until my eyes fall out my head, expecting a change that will never come.”

“We used to be best friends.”

“U-Used t-to?” Morty whimpered pitifully, face scrunched up in pain. 

“We both keep secrets from each other, that’s not what people do when they love each other.” Summer sniffled, wiping her eyes with her wrist. 

She sat up, Morty propping himself up with his elbows. 

“Life isn’t easy, and it’s not if it’s worth to have. We only have each other in this household, in this...world. We need to be honest with each other.”

Morty was silent for a moment before he hiccuped.

“I don’t think I can be!” He wailed. “I’ve ruined everything!”

“N-Not true.” She corrected gently, ruffling his hair. “You could never make me hate you.”

Summer smiled softly despite her tears, while Morty just looked up at her in heartbreak. 

“We need to get you some food, some sleep. A shower, maybe. You’ve neglected yourself, y-you can’t do that anymore, okay?”

The younger boy just nodded pitifully, sniffling. He watched her stand, then offer her hand to haul him up. Morty accepted it gratefully.

But what he didn’t expect was Summer to pull him into a tight hug. He immediately reciprocated, wrapping his arms around her. They stayed like that for a good bit before breaking away, sniffling and wiping their eyes, but both smiling.

“I haven’t seen you smile in a while.” Morty mentioned, skimming the bottom of his nose with a shaky hand.

“I could say the same about you.” She teased, pinching her brother’s arm playfully. 

“Hey.” She suddenly dropped her voice, as if someone was listening. “I have 20$, do you wanna go out to the diner for dinner? Mom and dad won’t be home for another couple of hours, they’re both at the church, what do you say?”

Morty’s eyes lit up as he nodded. She promised him a night out as long as he showered and slept accordingly, and he happily complied to her request. 

And Rick watched. And Rick seethed. He beheld the siblings in front of him, worn, but not broken. Reassembled. 

It was sickening.

He was never close with his brothers, there was no need to be. When someone is as powerful as himself, he shouldn’t think about the lesser ones. The worthless ones. So he never troubled himself with them. 

He watched as Morty excused himself to the bathroom, sighing gently.

The child closed the door, the smile still gracing his lips slipped off his face and into the sink as he beheld the boy in the mirror. 

And he said to him, in a voice so insidious, curses upon the flame that guides him home.

SUBSTANCE, GIVE ME SUBSTANCE

PRAYING TO A FACELESS GOD

AND HE IS FACELESS

_ THINK OVER THE TONE YOU SPOKE IN _

NOW YOU’VE EMBRACED THIS FILTHY SICKNESS YOU _ SHOULD DESPISE _

** _WHERE IS THE SHAME THAT WILL BRING YOUR SOUL BACK_ **

  
  
  
  


He left the room feeling quite ill. 

  
  
  
  


On the ride to the diner in Summer’s car, there was a comfortable silence. Morty closed his eyes, head back on the head rest, breathing softly through his nose. Before they both knew it, he had drifted off into a dreamscape, a deep sleep.

And he dreamed. He dreamed of a voice so disingenuous, the bad luck boy falling in the bottomless pit that Yahweh created for the disgraced angels. As he dropped, his heart stopped, replaced with spit and claws on his chest as gnawing teeth grazed his skin. He was enveloped in glowing eyes, gravity ceasing as he was suspended in air.

Morty felt soil beneath his feet as he floated to the ground. Surrounded by glass, he glared through a liquid gaze at his reflection in the all seeing mirror. It manifested a man within that says to the boy that he belongs to the beast of burden that slaughtered the fold. Oh how his oppressor was weak, ill, nothing more than a child’s fairytale. The Devil was nothing more than the villain of a worthless fable. And yet, he was left with the mark of the sick that kissed the dust and dirt that was spit on by the false God of his age. He was left, abandoned in the shadows that cast across the gravestone that refused to hold him down quite yet. 

The faceless man morphed into the tall figure he knew all too well. Large, black eyes sat above dark circles that resembled bruises. The tongue in cheek priest attire, strong hands, and chaotic curly hair that was a shade of fiery red. His borderline grey hue of skin and pointed, black fingernails wrapped up his appearance quite nicely. What looked like void tentacles manifested from Rick’s back, slowly making their way towards the boy as the devil stepped closer to him. 

The old man grinned, and through his rotted lips, the child saw one thousand swamp filled fangs. But Morty wasn’t afraid. And he wasn’t afraid when the shadow tentacles successfully enveloped his small frame, squeezing gently as they pulled him close. 

**Child of weakness...**

Rick’s low voice cooed, although his mouth wasn’t moving. 

The djinn knelt down so he came face to face with his child, his warm hand cupping Morty’s cheek. He leaned in close to his face, wh —

_ No _

** _No_ **

_ Where _

** _Where_ **

_ SAFE _

Morty’s eyes jolted open as Summer gently prodded him. He jumped slightly as if his bones were troubled, looking around. 

“Hey.” She murmured, retracting her hand. “You were having a nightmare.”

“W-Was I?” He questioned weakly, rubbing his blood shot eyes. 

Summer nodded, unbuckling her seatbelt. Morty looked out the window, noticing that they were in the parking lot, the boy promptly stepping out of the car as well.

“Wait a moment.” She muttered, digging into her purse. 

The older sibling pulled out a pack of menthol cigarettes, Morty cocking his head as he furrowed his eyebrows.

“You smoke?”

“No, Morty, I just like to carry around a carton of cigarettes with me.” She snorted in amusement.

“Want one?”

He shook his head. The smell of nicotine reminded him of Rick-

Well.

Maybe he would take one.

“Might wanna remove yourself cardigan, it’ll smell like smoke and father won’t like that.” 

Morty wordlessly removed the navy blue article of clothing, setting it down on the back of the car as Summer jumped up, sitting on the vehicle. She lit her cigarette, offering the lighter to Morty, who was still on the ground. 

“You’re probably guna cough.” Summer warned, smiling coyly. “You inhale deeply, pause, then exhale. It’s simple.”

Morty held the butt awkwardly between his two fingers, the boy following her instructions. And he did indeed cough. This made her giggle, Morty muttering a curse under his breath before he tried again, this time successful.

“Ah, it tastes...weird.” He mumbled, shaking his head. “God I- my head feels weird.” He squinted his eyes, looking up at her as she took a drag.

“If you feel dizzy, that’s the nicotine high you’re experiencing. Exhale through your nose so you can properly taste it.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, grimacing.

“It’s like...cold.”

“It’s menthol, dummy.”

“You act like I know what that means.”

This made her smile, and the boy copied her facial features. They were silent for a moment before Summer spoke up.

“What were you dreaming about? In the car.” She questioned, flicking the butt of her cigarette. 

“Uh, falling. Being surrounded by darkness.” He mumbled uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck.

Summer tilted her head, taking a drag.

“You’re not telling the whole truth. You scratch your neck when you’re hiding something.” She noted, Morty’s face flushing in embarrassment. 

“I dunno.” He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “There were mirrors, figures in them. Uh, demons. A demon.” 

She studied him carefully, noting the last thing he mentioned. In a bout of courage, she asked him an invasive question.

“Does the name Azlyn ring a bell?”

He looked up at her, genuinely confused, and she believed it as he shook his head no.

“Who’s that?”

She avoided his eyes, clucking her tongue.

“You do that when you’re nervous.” He commented now, calling her out.

She ran a hand through her red hair, sighing.

“Just a name I heard a while ago. It doesn’t matter, trust me.” She took another drag, Morty copying the movement.

But now he was curious, prying.

“Where?” He asked, a sinking feeling in his gut. 

Summer opened her mouth to defend herself, but then a voice called out.

“This is a smoke free zone!” An elderly woman called out from the diner, Summer rolling her eyes as she mumbled “bitch” under her breath.

The two put out their cigarettes, Morty apologizing weakly as Summer was just irritated.

“Hungry?” She asked, and Morty nodded.

He quietly checked his phone, going on incognito mode as he typed in the djinn’s name. Links came up, Morty furrowing his eyebrows as he saw a phrase in a language he didn’t understand.

_ Rean Par Tasa Azlyn Ayar _

He hid his phone as they stepped inside the establishment, taking a booth near the window. He fiddled with the device, as did his sister as she checked her messages.

“It’s nice not having father breathe down my neck while I check my phone.” She sighed, contemptuous as she despised his invasive nature. Morty just nodded wordlessly, rereading the foreign phrase over and over in his head.

Which was a bad idea, come to find out.

He put his phone face down on the table as the waitress came by, asking what drinks they wanted. Summer reminded him that he could order whatever he wanted, his eyes lighting up as his father was oddly strict with what he consumed. 

The two conversed pleasantly, enjoying the other’s company as they had no idea what was spawning inside of their home. 

Rick was quick to find out, mind you. He noticed a presence that wasn’t too familiar, so he went to go investigate Morty’s room, as the energy was manifesting within there. Needless to say, he wasn’t happy.

“You know, being summoned without an offering is really…unprofessional.” A soft voice murmured from an androgynous looking figure. 

“Bull_ shit.” _Rick seethed, crossing his arms from the doorway. “Like anyone would try to summon you.” 

The figure smiled at him, lips peeling back to unnatural proportions. 

“I heard my enn, clear as day.” 

Rick rolled his eyes, scowling. It obviously had to have been Summer by some accident, as she was the only human he lied to about his identity regarding the other djinn.

“So, where is he?” Azlyn asked, looking around slowly as there was no boy to be found. 

“He?”

“A male voice called my enn.” 

Rick’s lip twitched, his face stone cold. 

“What did his voice sound like?”

“High pitched, soft. Like it belonged to a kid.” The figure explained, not aware of Rick’s relationship with Morty.

So it was surprising to him when Rick snapped suddenly. But he smiled, and through his pale, cold lips, the devil beheld one thousand children's fingertips.

“You, are lying.” Rick muttered, dead eyes witnessing a god. “You’re not so good at hiding backhanded lies.”

“Swear on my life.” The djinn raises his hand, closing his eyes coyly as he smirked. “I heard a child.”

Azlyn’s eyes met Rick’s, the figure, eyes young, however, saw Morty’s soul. And he was delighted, and he was delighted. 

_ And I promise I won’t lie. _

“I want him.” The foreign demon commented quietly, tongue wagging as he copied, the devil didn’t care if he died.

“Get out.”

But he shook his head slowly, standing his ground. 

“I will _ never falter. _You’re a worthless coward who can’t keep his hands to himself. Your promises are empty and the spawning point of heartbreak. He’s mine.” Azlyn clucked his tongue, pointing his finger at Rick.

“You’ll never mean anything. You’ll never mean anything to him.” The devil warned, he threatened. 

But it fell on purposely deaf ears. 

“You won’t hurt me.” The figure delved into his own pomposity. “What will the child say when you have my blood on your hands?” 

Rick scowled, not one to hide his wholesome truths. 

“You have a new competitor.” Azlyn warned, cocking his head. “I won’t settle for less. I’m all, you’re nothing.”

The devil wasn’t one to lose, surely he did enjoy competition, but this prize was too precious for the other to handle. But it _ would _ be satisfying for Azlyn to lose, face down on the floor. He sighed, accepting. So he stuck out his hand for a shake, the two too coy for their own good. 

“May the best man win.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m so sorry this took forever! i was out of town and the holidays happened, but here’s the new chapter :] i hope y’all like it <3 my ocd has gotten a lot better, so expect quicker updates!


	11. Adonai Elohim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M SO SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT
> 
> everything has been...bad recently. really, really bad. all this is all I could manage. I’m so sorry. 
> 
> I had to break up with one of my girlfriends because she was abusive, I was diagnosed with a personality disorder that I’m scared of, and I keep having absolute and total breakdowns almost daily now. I was traumatized really badly a couple months ago and it’s like...it’s been really hard on me. and I don’t know what to do.
> 
> anyways, sorry for rambling. 
> 
> this is kinda uh, vent...chapter? it’s kinda of a filler to show y’all I’m not dead LOL

Stare at the wall ‘til his eyes fall out his head. Dark looking bruises smudged under them, his face is brittle like a tea cup behind a swollen brain. His fingernails chip as his heart tears, his stomach turning, tying in knots as his organs jumble in his system. He is whole. But he is haphazard. So what does this make him as a human being? The abnormalities, it’s sickening. He’s impure, though he’s never been touched. 

No one’s perfect. And lying isn’t that bad.

That’s something to sing about.

And he has conversations with his g-d. And sometimes his g-d talks back to him. 

___

where do you come from?

_ “I was spawned from the depths of the earth _

_ From blood and soil and dust and dirt” _

___

_ “What’s my most redeeming quality?” _

your voice is soft and earthy, it produced blood and bile within me but that doesn’t make it any less pretty 

your laugh feels like wind through the wheat and sand on skin 

___

_ “People are scared of me _

_ The creatures run _

_ And the beasts hide” _

not i

not i

___

we’ve been watching you throughout life

_ “What have you seen, are you disappointed?” _

why would we be disappointed in a g-d that’s trying his best in a world like this?

___

we were your first helpers in the world you created

_ “And I don’t regret this.” _

___

_ “I want to protect you, I love you.” _

love is a strong word

_ “So is calling me Father.” _

___

there’s countless of us, how could you remember all of our names?

_ “That’s the thing about g-ds, you have a lot of time to learn them.” _

___

i was wondering why you created me last?

_ “Because the problem with me is that I created man first, then women. For thousands and thousands of years, to this day, men think they’re above others. You have a different purpose. Rejoice.” _

___

cruelty destroys me

_ “This grieves me.” _

___

But G-d doesn’t talk to him anymore. And he believes that this is his own fault. And he is afraid, because Jerry has grown back his fingernails.

So he sings Him a new song, a seraph song full of rings of fire and glowing eyes, the aftermath of storm clouds, the flame that guides him home. 

He wasted his throat by telling his creator backhanded lies in his prayers, as the Father already knew and was discouraged. He was with him after sundown, picking petals and slurring to himself _ he loves me, he loves me not. _ I can’t let this build up inside of me. _ I can’t let this build up inside of me. _

_ I am the rupture breaking. _

I am the man-child with mirror eyes.

_ I am the gentle lion, frightful of the lamb. _

I am the warm, eternal love, the ember ore pulsating in the cold light. 

_ I am forever shaking, bitter and numb, a still heartbeat. _

I am the darkness, a beating heart within a marble statue. 

_ I am that I am. _

I am that I am.

  
  
  
  


**There is nothing to say.**

  
  
  


There was a beast festering inside of Summer. She felt the need to slowly embrace the creature within over time instead of wrestling with it. Becoming aware of it was the first step. And knowing what it is, an abomination, she has a better view of how to handle it. This took years, but nevertheless, she’s accepted what she needs to. Not too much, but not so little that she’s complacent with the venom. 

It is a part of her, and she is a part of _ it_.

This war of two they fought, neither was the winner. There is no looking up to a slave. There is no coexisting with a master. _ I will overcome. _

So she had the _ aha! _ moment, she wouldn’t rid of the creature completely, but tame it as best as she could. Then she would starve it, leave it lonely, wither. The love forsaking. The mother she made of herself. Instead of biting the hand that fed it, it would attack, attack fiercely in this cold, eternal house. She’s been training it for years, and she controls it, _ not the other way around. _

This beast of burden had many names but only one ugly face. Grief, rage, hatred, disgust. All aimed at one man. 

Her father. 

Ergo, she sees this as her toxic strength. A power she solely controls. More than human, but less than familial. It gave her delight in her twisted wisdom and morals, it made her pupils dilate in craving and her skin crawl from its magnificence. Her fingers formed into fists as she manipulated the monster to hit the walls in her room when the house was empty, the girl raging within. They worked together.

They would work together to take Jerry down.

Meanwhile, what was festering inside of Morty was undying obedience. It was cowardice, sensitivity, heartache. The feeling that he is not enough. The feeling that he is not enough and never will be. 

If the monster had a true name, it would be “the aftermath of abuse”, the cold heartedness it leaves in its victims. 

It takes on different forms depending on the person. Anger in one, timidness in another. A shapeshifter, morphing into what troubles the human the most. 

With Morty and Summer, the two had mindless dissonance between the other. 

_ Because Morty had excommunicated past peers and suicidal ideation from his soul’s mindless dissonance. He had starved his spirit into faith, shaping it into a tool to be used for obedience regardless of how in tune his heart strings were. He wishes he could cut on his wrists like his life had cut into his stomach. His heart didn’t hurt, his brain did. _

And Morty found himself crying in the parking lot after supper. And he couldn’t even say why.

But Summer could pinpoint exactly the reason. In an effort so courageous, she held back her own tears. She held him as he wept, stroking his hair as they trembled.

Neither of them wanted to go home. 

“Since I could talk, I've been preaching a gospel that I don't even understand!” Morty wailed, hysterical as he paced around in circles.

“Believing in things that can’t exist!”

Summer just let him talk it out, cry it out. She watched him, not with pity, but with an understanding of sadness. 

“And I beg, God! Please _ listen _to me! Father! Heaven, hear me!” He looked up at the darkening sky, shaking his head. 

His head snapped back down to look at his sister.

_ “But there’s nothing!” _ Morty hissed, his full body trembling. 

“And-and-and this _ emptiness _is such a burden on my heart! For nothingness, it feels so heavy! I don’t understand!”

“Depression is universal, but leaves us all with a feeling that we’re each isolated.” Summer replied softly, earning a confused whimper from her brother. 

“You- I’m….am I….depressed…?” 

Summer laughed sharply, incredulously.

“Morty, how could you think this is normal?”

“I thought everyone felt this way.” He whispered, voice trembling. 

Summer’s exhale shuddered as she shook her head. 

“Come.” She pleaded softly, and Morty came. And they embraced each other again.

And Rick felt this heartache.

And Rick decided that he didn’t quite like the feeling. 

And the Father above, He was grieved, too.


	12. Caim

I want to make your murder look like a suicide! There’s sticky mold in my forehead that’s stuffed with cotton that tastes like what Mandarin sounds like. There’s this blackness that oozes around the lack of organs that people try _ to convince me I have._

They can’t convince me otherwise.

The trees outside are dead, the plants are fake, I have this cotard solution which is a secret that’s surreptitious, it’s something only I can see. My heart, or lack thereof, is a flatline. I only have four bones and I can’t imagine having something called a “rib”. So don’t even try with the useless rhetoric of telling me that I’m somehow alive. The dead walk all around me, and this is why I talk to no one. For who wants to converse with a corpse? 

If my dreams come true, then what of my nightmares? Nothing tastes as good as skin feels. Bones bones bones, let me see your bones! Hand me my shovel, I’m going in!

Maybe my mother died during childbirth and my father killed himself because of it! Makes perfect sense to me! And if that’s not the case? Oh boy! Wouldn’t my face be red. Chaos chaos chaos! And it’s PERFUMED!

Mother Mary is a pile of bones that I adore. Her wax tears drop on my troubled hands as I light her prayer candle. If I burn my hand with a cigarette will it peel and rot the skin even more? Or will I feel alive?

Teeth in my throat? I’m the art of losing clumpy blood. It’s a clumsy attempt to meet my second end. I’m already dead, so if I killed myself, nothing would happen..!..??,,,!!!,

H?i? Hi!hi!hi!HI? I don’t really like this song, but that was bound to happen! …. right? The blister exists! Evolution exists! 

Here’s an example: ? ? ? : : ; . . . 

  
  


They scrub the electric chairs helmet with a wet sponge, strap me down, and sing to me before I sleep one last time in 2012 and my memory cannot be saved. The Screwtape letters is an excellent book, I do, and I do recommend to read it if you haven’t! My nicotine addiction is off the CHARTS! 

A man who’s actually a boy in my body has the cotard syndrome that I can’t quite place my finger on. I mean, it’s so rare? What are the chances a figment of my imagination has it? Impossible!

Or is it? 

And he, I, us? We don’t feel real anymore. I gotta get to the bottom of this. I gotta get to the bottom of this. I gotta get to the bottom of this. I gotta get to the bottom of this. I gotta get to the bottom of this. I gotta get to the bottom of this. _ Sagrado Corazon de Maria. _

BE NOT AFRAID! For I bring good tidings of great joy, which is to be to all people! I did a Tarot reading today to see what’s going on in my head. Funny how I got The Sun right? Because there’s this dark mass that envelops my insides, you ask me a question and the answer is no. 

I had a dream I was born in 1899, and the year 1924 was a great year for me! You look just like my bathroom mirror, but I won’t know for certain until I’m under arrest.

I am the song with five names: The Time Machine and The Invisible Man by H.G Wells, a.k.a, Eagle 20’s Menthol Gold, a.k.a, Local Resident Proud To Called “Crazy Cat Woman”, a.k.a Cranberry Vanilla (Arándano y Vainilla NET WT 11.5 OZ (326 g)), a.k.a Inverted Tarot Card and my coffee has a touch too much of cinnamon for my LIKING. 

I think I should stop talking. I have nothing left to say. 

**Heart, Hand, Skull, Crow. I don’t miss him, but I remember his presence, and it burns my heart with a heat found only in hell. **

**I refuse to delve further into these feelings. **

Now’s where I pretend to be okay so I can continue writing for the masses! 

  
  
  
  
  
  


It was Sunday afternoon, mass had ended in a pleasant way. The sun was shining, birds were singing, but Morty didn’t feel too well. Not at all! And why? Well, it’s because Rick came with a palpable presence that he felt seeping into his floorboards at night. He was the seams in his school uniform, his touch choking his neck as Morty tied his tie too tight by accident. Sometimes he imagines it’s a noose. Sometimes he wishes it was.

Days had passed since supper with Summer, his meltdown in the parking lot, and he thinks to himself, _ am I truly depressed? _

He looked it up on the internet, he seemed to fit the criteria. Morty glanced at his sister with _ fear _ in his _ eyes_, and she understood. She understood. 

And Summer would look at him with _ wrath _ in her _ clenched fists, _and Morty comprehended this, and he accepted this. He knew it was directed at their father. And he understood. Morty understood. 

And Rick would watch them with curiosity in his gaze, but he couldn’t understand. He didn’t understand. He didn’t know why they wouldn’t just kill Jerry! Rick was _ right there, _more than willing and more than happy to annihilate the person who caused such pain.

And Azlyn was cocky, and he was quiet in this pompacity he held so close to his lack of heart. He waited on the outskirts of the backyard where Morty saw a night crawler once. Or something like that. 

The djinn didn’t talk to the devil, the two briefly making eye contact and that was it. That’s all they needed from each other to remind the other that he was here to stay. They were done relaxing, this was a chemical reaction. 

But fuck this, I mean, what’s the point. Petty arguments and giving the cold shoulder. That was childish. You want to talk like a man? Then be a man. It’s time to act like one. This was pathetic. Distancing from each other because of a stupid argument over a stupid curse. Morty knew Rick didn’t miss him, but he had enough of yearning, and enough of heartbreak.

So he prayed. Or, well, commanded the devil’s presence.

_ “Come here you stupid bitch, we have much to talk about.” _

So Rick heard the call, and came, surprised as he saw his petulant child with a smart mouth and haughty attitude. 

“I’ve had enough.” Morty whispered a hiss through his crooked teeth. “This ignoring each other, it’s fucking retarded.”

“I-”

“_Don’t. _Speak.” Morty growled. “I will talk, and you will listen.”

Rick just nodded, eyebrows raising in shock.

“Your realities change, I do not. If you want to talk like a man, then be a man. I’m tired of being alone. I’m exhausted of these nightmares that _ I know you give me. _ I’ve had enough of smelling your cigarette smoke in my classrooms. I see black eyed nuns and I feel nauseous looking at them because I know it’s _ you._”

“Stop. Mocking. Me.” Morty finished. 

Rick just blinked at him, not knowing what to say. He was delighted, confused, a little offended? But content that Morty was manning up. For the moment anyways.

Before he could reply, Morty kicked his shin with the force of an angel, Rick collapsing to his knees as he hissed in pain.

“What the f-” The kid pulled him close by the collar and connected their lips together harshly, cutting Rick off as his eyes were squeezed shut.

They stayed like that for a long moment before Morty pushed Rick back forcefully.

“Cut the shit, _ be real with me._” Morty commanded, and the devil found his hands trembling.

“I- I’m…”

“I know you’re obsessed with me.” Morty mocked, his eyes glazed over, pupils dilated. “You keep coming around, fucking me over.”

Rick blinked at him, surprised as he’s never heard him curse before. Before he could reply, the petulant child spit in his face. 

“I heard your voice in my death rattle.” Morty said softly, but his eyes were darkened. He grabbed Rick’s chin, forcing it up so they locked eyes.

“Don’t. Leave me again.” He demanded. 

But Rick could feel his hand tremble slightly. He wasn’t sure if it was from anger, or grief. 

He just stared at him, bewildered, not having time to process what was happening before Morty kissed him again. This time it was softer, but the kid still had a vice grip on him. 

No one had ever treated him like this, and Rick didn’t know if he was honored, proud, or offended by these actions and words. 

Morty pulled back with tears in his eyes, biting his bottom lip. He, unfortunately, was an angry crier. It was embarrassing, he looked like a kicked puppy with a bite to him. 

Rick tentatively reached out to cup his cheek, the kid not rejecting his touch as the devil made contact. 

“Th-This is so stupid.” Morty’s voice wavered, the child crossing his arms angrily. “Why did this hap-happen…” He mumbled to himself, sniffling.

Rick’s thumb rubbed gentle circles on Morty’s cheek, brushing away his tears. His other hand came up to wipe the saliva off himself, Rick shaking his head quickly to make sure this was real. 

“Don’t...Don’t leave again…” Morty whimpered, his anger officially fading. Rick just pulled him close, hugging him.

“I won’t.” He assured, still trying to process what he felt currently. 

And this was...confusing as his natural reaction was to comfort Morty, not mock him and be equally petulant. What was this? He didn’t care, so why was he acting like he did? Rick grit his teeth, needing to take back his power over this situation. They were talking again, so that was good. His pestering had worked. So why did he feel stupid and useless? Being manhandled by a child. It should have been humiliating, but he found himself at peace holding Morty.

He had to distance his heart, though. Clearly. So Rick pulled away from the hug. He saw tears in Morty’s eyes, and decided that they could stay. 

“I won’t say sorry for what I’ve done.” The kid’s voice cracked. “But I won’t do it again.”

“Thank you.” Rick said in a small voice. 

They both knew he’d apologize eventually. 

The devil stood back up, grimacing as his shin still ached. But he pulled Morty close to his chest, stroking his hair comfortingly. They were both silent for a moment before Rick spoke up.

“Why did you cut your hair?”

“I didn’t like it anymore, I suppose.” Morty mumbled, nuzzling his face into Rick’s chest.

“Hm. It looks okay.” The devil mumbled more to himself than the other. 

“It’ll grow back eventually, you know.” Morty exhaled sharply through his nose in amusement. 

“If you don’t like it.” He finished. 

“It looks fine either way.” 

He looked down, seeing that Morty looked exhausted. 

“You should sleep, you know?” Rick suggested, the child looking up at him.

“It’s like, three in the afternoon.” Morty mumbled, his dark under eye circles standing out against his blanched skin. 

“Come, nap with me.” Rick suggested, looking over at the bed. He held Morty’s small hand in his own large one, leading him over to the mattress.

Morty plopped down, kicking off his shoes before collapsing onto his sheets. Rick did the same, crawling into the bed as Morty immediately sought his presence, wrapping his thin arms around Rick as they both laid down. 

Rick stroked Morty’s hair, whispering sweet nothings until he heard soft puffs coming from the boy. He closed his own eyes, feeling a mixture of feelings, all unpleasant. 

He had a lot to process. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my schizophrenia is off the charts!! clearly. I have cotard delusion!!!! fantastic. I’m not mentally well. I’m not doing well. clearly. this chapter is awful!!! but it’s all I could do :•) all my feeling in the beginning! fantastic. that’s what’s been going through my head all day. amazing.


	13. Dantalion

Morty slowly woke up, expecting to be alone again, but was surprised when he felt strong arms wrapped around his thin frame. He properly opened his eyes, blinking a couple times, squinting as he studied Rick’s face. Both of them were lying on their sides, face to face, the devil’s arms having a firm rest on Morty.

His cheeks felt hot at the realization that he fell asleep in Rick’s embrace. He didn’t even think demons _ could _ sleep, but he had gently been proved wrong. 

Morty studied Rick’s facial features, noting how he looked...relaxed. He looked soft. No coy smirk, no tense shoulders, no sickening words. He just looked at ease.

And the boy treasured this moment. 

Through a half lidded gaze, he smiled. It was the first time he had done that in weeks. It had been so long since he expressed that facial feature, that it felt almost odd and out of place in the moment. But it was a good weird. He decided that it could stay. 

Moments later, as if he could sense someone’s eyes on him, Rick rustled in the sheets. He twitched his nose and moaned softly, slowly blinking open his eyes, only to see a blushing child staring at him like he had hung the moon. Rick immediately stiffened, his foggy brain assuming the worst as he frantically searched himself to see if he was naked or exposed in any way, but...he wasn’t.

Then it occurred to him. _ Morty would never do that_.

He could never take advantage of him like the others. 

Rick heard his mother’s voice in his head, and it prickled his chest, like his heart strings being tickled into a miraculous tune. _ Laugh it up honey it ain’t that bad. _

He shivered subtly, breath hitching softly as he looked back up at a confused Morty.

“Is-Is everything okay?” He asked weakly, sensing the apprehension in the devil’s actions. 

“Mnhn.” Rick whimpered softly. 

Immediately embarrassed by his vulnerability, he sat up quickly, arms retracting from the child’s body. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, crossing his arms as he refused to make eye contact with Morty. 

“I didn’t know I fell asleep. I-I don’t even remember doing that.” Rick mumbled, more to himself than the kid next to him. 

“I didn’t even know you could sleep.” Morty spoke gently, sensing uneasiness.

“I don’t have to unless I’m really hurt. Or _ extremely _ bored I suppose. I don’t like sleeping.”

“Why?”

Rick didn’t answer. 

He stretched his lanky body, bones popping by the action as he moaned quietly.

You can break the devil when you break new ground, you dig dirt up when you dig _ deep down_. I am the me I was born into, but what source do you come from?

It’s not profound to know, that you will never know. 

_ Yes or no isn’t null. Yes it is. No. I don’t know _

_ Yes or no? Isn’t it a silly question? Ask it anyway. אֶהְיֶה אֲשֶׁר אֶהְיֶה! _

But it was part of the plan, he would stand on his hind legs and look up at the skies in a Solomonic ritual, when the nights were right, when the stars were bright. No triangles for me, please. His eyes are covered in blood, the lights are on, and he can’t see. 

He strikes without a purpose. 

Hands holding high onto the moon, if he held on much tighter, he might break his wrists. He was a vagabond, a traveler who had many tales to tell. He’d sing for his supper when he needed none, in a way where he would drink blood from their necks and gnaw on his victim’s ribs. Creating a miraculous tune strummed from hamstrings and xylophone bones. On the road on the road on the road on the road on the way on the way on the way to Morty’s house.

Just because they were demons doesn’t mean they couldn’t have been men. 

I remember waking up in Georgia, I remember quitting my last job. I remember when I first saw snow. I remember letting down in an easy way.

People would learn to rejoice and to fear his coming. 

I came across some robbers three

At first I took everything away from them

Then they took 

Everything

Away

From me

Dreams don’t make sense. But neither does real life. And if what I just described to you doesn’t make sense, then you don’t make sense either. 

For our world is made up of one thing at its core. Individuality. 

And our human being is made up of multiple things. Freest of the freest emotions and a liking for honey combs. 

And all of this? Must seem like scribblings from a mad man. And maybe it is. But this is my world. And it makes perfect sense to me. I strive to speak what I have learned and I have walked the beds of disturbed unrest. I’m emotionally compromised and my thoughts may not make sense. But that’s the trick! No one is me. And no one is you. But perhaps in a way, we can learn from each other. And maybe, we could inspire one another. 

I can’t be the only one who refuses to placate my unsavory emotions. 

We were made for so much more than what we’ve been presented. To be walked all over, _ are we expected to settle for this? _

Senseless injustice! We turned our backs on our brothers we were called to raise. We dug the graves of the ones we’re called to love. So when you dig my grave, make it shallow so I can feel the tears and resentment of my passing. 

The grieving Mother stood weeping beside the cross where her Son was hanging

The Mother stood grieving beside the cross weeping while on it hung her Son

The sorrowful Mother stood full of tears by the Cross while her Son was hanging there

The mother of sorrows stood in tears beside the cross on which her Son was hanging

Weeping stood the Mother of Sorrows next the Cross, the while her Son hung there

The Mother stood sorrowing by the cross weeping while her Son hung there

The sorrowful Mother stood weeping before the cross where hung her Son

_ At the cross her station keeping, stood the mournful mother weeping, close to Jesus to the last _

7:29! 7:29! 7:29! I keep seeing the number everywhere! That’s my birthday! That’s the date of me starting my Shamanic journey! 

Let me down the easy way.

Looking up we see the _ point of entry _

Between_ where we are _ and _ we’ve been _

_ Looking up I could say heaven sent me _

_ Hand me my shovel, I’m going in! _

  
  


what we think about ourselves determines what we can do. my skull was crushed by a tall boy’s boot on a curb and i’m trying to collect my molars and put them back in my face. someone offered me 40$ on etsy for a spirit channeling session but those are worth 300$ _ minimum. _ naturally i declined. i told her to have a good day but i then called my best friend and told her what a cock sucker this woman was. and my best friend agreed. i mean, fuck, i could have bought a switch with that money you know? and animal crossing.

what a bitch. 

  
  


LOOKING UP WE SEE THE _ POINT OF ENTRY _

BETWEEN_ WHERE WE ARE _ AND _ WE’VE BEEN _

_ LOOKING DOWN I COULD SAY HEAVEN SENT ME _

_ HAND ME MY SHOVEL, _ ** _I’M GOING IN!_ **

I’ll escape this reality, be the next Houdini!

  
  


All my friends have gone away. Sinking vessels leaving bay.

But they don’t even know what they’re chasing.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


His story structure is failing.

  
  


And Morty found himself hours later smoking a cigarette with Summer. It was Saturday night, their parents went on a date, so they found themselves at the diner once again. And low and behold, Rick came as well. But he wasn’t visible to the human eye, the girl being an exception, however. 

Morty and Summer were silent, but Rick was chatting up a storm. 

“I mean, fuck, Summer, I could take care of you and your brother, you know? And your mom too, if you’d like. We could be a family.”

The girl gnawed on her bottom lip, the djinn poking her forearm, earning a wince and a scowl as a bruise was festering underneath her cardigan. This caused Morty to snap back his attention to the real world, as he was lost in thought.

“You okay?” His voice was quiet. Summer nodded, huffing. 

“Uh, cramps. Period stuff.”

“Ah.” Her brother nodded. “I have some ibuprofen if you want some.” 

She nodded, Morty reaching into his pocket to give her the pill as he kept some in a small bag.

“Why do you keep those around?”

“Uh, pain. Headaches. I’ve kept them in my pockets for a couple years and I take them oft- s-sometimes.”

Summer nodded wordlessly before taking one. They proceeded to have pleasant small talk before she asked him how he’s been.

Morty’s medical records would jot down a broken bone in 2012 and a kidney infection before that, flip past the Mahaprajnaparamita and you’ll find his current situation. It was as bad as it could be, but he was strong. 

God he just wanted to scream! Scream with him! Scream with me! Don’t you want to go crazy? He wanted to dye his hair and cut up his clothes and step outside to the delight of others quick to judge. As long as he was happy, who cared? People say all the time “I wish I could do __ but I’d look ugly.” Look ugly! It’s okay!

The only bad ugly thing is a personality. 

And he was feeling courageous right now! 

  
  
  


But he composed himself. And he said he was okay. 

  
  
  


But wait.

What if _ I _ wasn’t okay? What if I stopped writing and wording nonsensical misunderstandings scribbled down from troubled hands and a shaking heart? A cacophony of unique phrases thrown across some papers three. 

What if I wrote plain and boring! Straight to the point with no emotions?!

What if I wrote all emotions. With no plot or purpose.

What if I stopped the story all together? What then?

What if I stopped existing, too.

What then.

What then?

You’re expecting a story, a chapter, but what about the author? 

  
  
  
  


Does anyone even know my name?

  
  
  


Sometimes I don’t feel like writing inside the box anymore. I tend to step out of it. Maybe it’s annoying to other people. Maybe it’s annoying to _ me_. What if I wrote in rhymes? Well, that requires **structure. **Something I clearly don’t have. Am I known for my crippling madness? Am I defined by my mental illness?

  
  
  
  
  


Is anyone even listening to me?

  
  
  
  


This whole story is a telling of my suicide note. 

Well let me tell you about myself, I suppose.

I was always scared of the dark. It’s an evolutionary trait we inherit from our ancestors. We commonly have a fear of death, the uncanny valley, rejection, separation. We evolved from animals.

We are still animals.

But why deny the color black. Why not give into madness when my heart is touched and my soul is set ablaze by the gods above looking down on me. I am just a plaything. I’m a man. I could be cast aside like cheap lots. I could have my throat slit. I could be offered up as a sacrifice to the demonic god Moloch, who’s an ancient Canaanite deity of child sacrifice and fire. He’s said to be covered in baby's blood and mother’s tears. I look up to him, you know. 

I look up to him.

You know, in a fit of psychosis, I thought about writing the next chapter in strictly emojis. Funny, right? Well, I find the idea quite obnoxious now. Lucky for you all I’ve been on a strict diet of pills and bread coupled with black coffee and tobacco. 

Us authors tell a story. All humans are authors in their own way, don’t worry. You’re one of us. Stories have structure, and despite mine not seeming to have it, it does at its core.

A beginning, a middle, an end. A hero, a victim, an antagonist. But why adhere to the normal. The wheel _ has _been reinvented.

From stone, to wood, to rubber.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


I think about hanging myself a lot.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Rick winced at what Morty ordered. It was haphazard, an amalgamation of abhorrent pieces of sloppy meat and...burnt vegetables? Waffles and lukewarm soup. Abominable. Summer looked at him, and he looked back. They both looked at Morty, who only saw her.

“Morty…”

He looked up from his food hesitantly.

“Yeah?”

“That is. Disgusting.”

Rick nodded in agreement with Summer’s tone of mild disgust. She huffed softly in amusement at Rick’s approval of her distaste for Morty’s odd craving for food. 

“It’s _ good_, okay!”

“Mhm. I’m sure.” Rick commented quietly, earning a quiet laugh from the girl.

But then she had a thought. A thought that started to nag her quiet harshly upon hearing him speak. They tend to do that, right? Thoughts pop up over small things that normally don’t matter. That irritation is part of what makes us human. Then she pondered that...

  
  
  
  


Maybe Rick was right.

Maybe, he could take care of them.

She chewed on her bottom lip, subconsciously tapping her fork softly on her plate. Summer had already made multiple plans for escape in the past. She would take Morty and live at their grandparents place, their aunt and uncle’s, a friend’s. 

But Rick could make the pain stop permanently. 

Sensing her unease, the demon placed a hand on Summer’s, whose eyes glanced over at him in appreciation. He squeezed gently, the two quiet.

Rick looked at her with _ understanding _ and _ compassion. _

Something Jerry would never do. 

He had their best interest in mind. She didn’t know why, maybe she never will. But he could make the pain stop.

He will make the pain stop. 

Okay.

Okay.

That’s okay.

Holding back tears, she swallowed, a lump forming in her throat. She would do it. For her brother. For herself. 

No matter the cost.

...She just needed to convince Morty. 

She would _ do it. _Rick had done it. 

The demon’s kindness had won her over. His understanding. His words. He had persisted in making their life better, Summer would be a fool not to take the offer. She would be an idiot.

And she is _ not_.. an idiot.

“Is everything okay?” Morty asked quietly, his sister’s eyes snapping up to look at him.

“Tell him.” Rick said softly, giving her quiet courage as he read her thoughts.

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, pressing her lips into a thin line. 

“Summer?”

She sighed softly, putting her fork down.

“So.” The girl started after a long moment, voice low and quiet. “I think I know how to get out of our house. Away from father.”

Morty’s eyebrows raised.

“Y-Yeah?”

She kept her gaze with her brother, refusing to feel ashamed or weak. She denied herself the option to look down, look away, or change the subject.

There was a very, very long pause. 

“I’ve been...I’ve been visited by a demon, Morty.”

The boy’s face blanched.

“I know! I know what it sounds like. It sounds- it sounds really bad. But he’s been- he’s given me- _ us_, the opportunity to have a better life. And I...I trust him to take care of us.”

Morty blinked at her, speechless. Taking his silence into her persuasion, she continued. 

“He wants to get rid of father...and I want to help him.”

“What’s his name.” Morty’s voice was so quiet, he mistook it for a thought.

Summer looked at the djinn, who nodded solemnly.

“Rick.”

She noticed how he started trembling. He dropped his fork, hands shaking as was his small frame. 

“I know what it sounds like, I know. But I think-”

“I know him.” Morty’s voice cracked. “I know him, too.”

Summer inhaled sharply.

“He came when- when I needed someone. He stayed. He showed me love. He…” The boy looked down at his lap, breath stuttering.

“He offered to make our life better.”

“So why didn’t you say yes?” Summer whispered. 

“I was scared.” His hand came up to cover his mouth as his voice cracked. Morty closed his eyes and whimpered

“He can help us.” Summer urged him to listen to her. “He can set us free.”

“And kill our father.” Morty finished as his hand dropped. “I’m not- I don’t want to do that!”

She sighed, disappointed. And Morty knew that sigh. He knew it all too well.

And that exhale of air pulled his heart right from his chest and dangled it in front of his face in a mocking way. 

“Then I’ll do it myself.” Summer growled. “I don’t care what it takes. This is _ righteous_. It’s what he deserves. How can you not be angry?”

“I am.” He snapped, voice shaking. “Don’t you think I hate him, too?”

“Then why not _ do something?_” She hissed quietly. “Think of mom, think of _ me._”

Ah.

Guilt.

Guilt placed a heavy hand on his chest. He didn’t even...think of that. How selfish. 

God, god! How selfish! 

His breath shuddered as tears formed in his eyes. The boy felt sick.

“I’m sorry...Just-Just let me...let me sleep on it, okay?”

Summer nodded, but was quiet. Rick offered her quiet words of reassurance while they stared blankly at their supper. They would be okay.

He would say yes eventually.

Watch. 

“Eat your food.” She whispered, eyes blurry. 

  
  
  
  


They ate in silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weh I didn’t like this chapter too much. then again, I don’t really like anything I make. I hope this was satisfactory for y’all :•p


	14. Marbas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you’re uncomfortable with gore d o n t read this

According to Freud's model of the psyche, the id is the primitive and instinctual part of the mind that contains sexual and aggressive drives and hidden memories, the super-ego operates as a moral conscience, and the ego is the realistic part that mediates between the desires of the id and the super-ego.

_ Honor the id and disrespect the superego _

** _ALL PARTS OF THE SELF MUST BE RESPECTED, THE SUPEREGO CANT HONOR THE ID WITHOUT BEING HONORED BY THE EGO, WE HAVE TO HUMBLE (THUS BALANCING) THE EGO ENOUGH TO UNDERSTAND THE VALUE OF ITSELF AND THE ID WHILE KNOWING THE EGO ALONE CANNOT SINGLEHANDEDLY BALANCE THE TRIAD_ **

_ FOOL THAT YOU ARE FOR EGO DEATH IS NECESSARY FOR THE SELF TO EXPERIENCE TRUE NIRVANA AND THE SUPEREGO CANNOT RESIST THE HUMAN NATURE ITS BOUND TO _

** _true ego death is a denial of reality in order to chase the fleeting bliss you foolheartedly assume comes from the fear of the self and reality when true happiness will stem from EMBRACING what Is_ **

_ is fleeting bliss better than a hollow peace? is nirvana a fleeting feeling? is it valuable because you can reach it at a certain point because it’s not permanent and it teaches you not to be complacent like the devas? are the asuras in the right to call them on their bullshit??? _

** _is our existence the moth that melted into my candle last night? we give into our desires as the animals do in their hell the buddhists claim they have? we are the descendants of apes and our primal instincts never fade. we inherit our ancestors fears but also their wants_ **

_ did the moth know he’d melt and die? did he give into temptation knowing it meant certain death? or did his desire to be to the light reflect a humans nature as we turn to a holy god in times of fear!! _

** _has god blessed us with unique ids? every human is a god in their own right as our emotions and memories are unique to us and us only. we inherit fears from our ancestors so do we have the same ids as them? their actions aided in their deaths, is that fate or the egos fault?_ **

_ WAIT... a thought...alien ids...alien mental illnesses...alien cultures...does life and the cosmos that have consciousness have human ids? what is a human id? _

** _the human id is all we know, do we surrender ourselves to observation & trust in the honesty & connection between us & other life forms & believe their explanations to have an idea about their reality, or believe our differences (& the "necessity" of true empathy) are too great?_ **

_ is it in an aliens nature to lie? to be conniving & deceitful? unlike my human experience but as a mass some of us believe it’s in our nature to be evil. is lying evil? what’s the true definition of sin? what’s a humans true nature and could it be similar to aliens? _

** _is any creatures nature all or nothing? there is no way to know for sure even based upon past experiences, so would it be more worthwhile to trust and develop a relationship despite the risks or to be sneaky and deceitful yourself to find the answer?_ **

_ you can observe ants and their nature is all or nothing. the hive mind, to protect the queen at all costs and they sacrifice themselves without a second thought _

** _is that a way of life worth emulating? does the hivemind nature of ants create a balance between the ego and the id or is the hivemind mentality the death of the id? is it impossible to tell because the id of a human would be influenced by such extremely different factors than humans that it would be a null argument to consider ants under the ego/id/superego lens? is ego/id/superego balance something to strive for or is it another form of perfection we torture ourselves within?_ **

_ I say it’s the death of the id! but they live for what, a year? but to gods, we have the lifespan of an ant. BUT. we have a conscious idea of id/ego/superego. what are god ids like? we were made after yahwehs image, do we share his id and mindset? or just his appearance? _

** _could we? perhaps we share his image but our genetic code has developed over the generations, whos to say those influences to id havent been weeded out _ ** ** _how much of id is dependent on life experiences and development? where is the measure of difference too great for commonality?_ **

_ god and evolution exists and coincides naturally in my personal opinion. alternate dimensions in their evolutionary state could be prehistoric. 298 million years ago during the permian period “Meganeuropsis Permiana” existed. the biggest bug recorded. as oxygen lowered bats and birds evolved and took out the insects. do those bugs share the same id as current bugs? as the oxygen lowered, things became smaller. with that evolution, did that affect their id? did they inherit the same id/ego/super ego as THEIR ancestors? _

**_these are answers we cannot know and must surrender to the universe_** **_we could record what we observe now in hopes for future generations using the information but those are things we do not have the historical record of in our time_**

_ but what if I refuse to surrender to the universe? does that make my ego damaged? or grossly narcissistic and unable to connect to my superego and id because of the unwillingness to let go and accept that we will never know. _

  
  
  
  


_ I must have answers! _

  
  
  
  


We don’t handle outsiders very well. I want you to piece together this chapter in which suits you best. What makes _ you _happy. I’ll come up with some rhymes and means to an end, but I want you to decipher this in how it makes you content. Be fulfilled and unique as I’m sure others would have a different story to tell in this chapter. 

Impress me. 

Here we go!

  
  
  


In real life, some people don’t properly weigh the actions in which they’re about to perform. In real life, we can be very impulsive. Putting her soul on the line for her brother? She would do it in a heartbeat. We all thought that the girl decided _ too _ quickly. 

But she chose too slow. 

It’s a no brainer. She loves her brother, no matter the cost. And when the heart is moved by a simple suggestion, we act foolishly. Summer had the choice and couldn’t choose _ not to be moved! _

_ Not to be loved! _

Because in real life, we’re quick to make heart heavy decisions after something small sets us off. This isn’t an excuse, this is just an observation. This is personal experience. 

And so she said yes to the devil! Yes! Yes yes _ yes! _

And was met with no regrets.

And her name was treason. 

So she crept into bed that night, early in the morning, restless. This fire was _ restless_. 

When poets talk about fire, typically, they refer to the heart or anger. But the heat bakes sweet bread, it warms a sick cat from the cold rain. It’s found behind the knees of a lover as your toes are freezing. Fire is associated with passion, but no one talks about how tender and gentle the element can be. Get too close, sure, you’ll get hurt. There’s no denying that. But the flames are what keeps us alive, and to be alive is to love, not associate the heat with anger.

For life is meaningless if you spent the entirety of it up in smoke, all coming to nothing. And I pity the people who spend their time conniving in senseless vengeance. What a wasted time in space. 

We dig our hole to die. We dig our hole to die. We dig our hole to _ die! _But no matter how many times I type the line, the weight never settles. 

** _(Don’t) leave me alone!_ **

And tell our dad I’m sorry.

  
  
  
  
  


** _FUCK YOU ALL_ **

  
  
  
  


FUCK IT ALL! _ FUCK EVERYTHING THAT YOU _ ** _STAND FOR_ **

I DON’T WANT TO LIVE

I DON’T WANT PEOPLE TO _ SEE ME _

_ WHY DIDN’T HE STOP WHEN I CRIED _

WHEN MY HANDS WRAP AROUND YOUR PULSING THROAT

** _AIN’T NO FUCKING THING YOU CAN DO_ **

  
  
  
  
  


Inspiration strikes when there's a needle in your vein. A moment of clarity from the pain, realizing how terribly human you are as you’re at the mercy of something simple. The spike hits the flesh on impact, and it jumpstarts your system into becoming a new being. 

Clarity hits when you wonder what type of needle I’m writing about. Maybe it’s medical, or something considered pitiful. Addiction or healing. Funny how they coincide. Funny how it doesn’t even matter because it’s not the focus of the story, it’s just the beginning of something bigger.

But as humans, we focus on the small details instead of the greater picture. That’s how ocd works, too. Something small snowballs into something quite insidious in nature. Because guilt connects things that aren’t connected. As does perfection. It was a piece of him he didn’t need, but it makes up his person and who he is today.

The wisdom we acquire from mental illness. 

_ I’m so ocd! _

Shut...up. Please. 

An ever evolving disease grows into a troubling tree. The branches stick out haphazard, unable to placate the fruit it bears from its nature. For the illness is the trunk, the blooming spirits trapped in a haze are the intrusive thoughts. 

One cannot exist without the other.

Eating a leaf off the ground isn’t an intrusive thought. It’s an impulsive thought. 

Involuntarily obsessing over killing and raping children _ in that order _ is an intrusive thought. 

But who wants to admit that? Who wants to be known as the guy who thinks about fucking kids?

That’s why he’s quiet about it. The thought that, he’s not his thoughts hasn’t occurred to him. That it’s his actions that truly matter. 

Don’t apologize for being human and having emotions with a certain type of brain matter. It’s how you handle it is what defines you and of course your spoken words. Your character is who you are when no one's watching.

He thinks too much, and yet he hasn’t thought of that yet. When he finally finds he’s not his intrusive feelings, _ it’s guna hit like a BRICK. _

When will his new self drain his dirty blood? He’s dirty dirty _ dirty _ and washing his hands isn’t enough anymore. It stemmed from that, to washing his body, to wanting his soul cleansed.

His past mistakes, they taint the meat. They make his spirit bitter. It makes his insides...unsavory. In this hypothesis, he’s disgusted that someone else has his name. And that this person is better than him. And that this person is thriving, normalcy possessing the stranger’s frame and shaking the disease out of him. 

He’s moving towards the storm, moving forward, torn. _ I won’t let this build up inside of me. _

But Morty found himself in hysterics one night, laughing and sobbing and he collapsed on the kitchen floor with a steak knife in his shaking hand. He curled up near the cabinets, pupils dilated in need as he sliced into his arms to drain his dirty blood. It spattered on his clothes, on the wooden floor. And of course! With his ocd, he’d clean it, right?

Cause ocd is known for its cleanliness!

Everyone was gone to see a movie, he didn’t want to go. And that was fine. Because for a long time, he didn’t feel well enough to go out and do things anymore with his parents and sibling. 

So he found himself, cigarette in one hand, bloody knife in the other as he exhaled the smoke that billowed around his pale face. Summer smoked menthols and frequently offered him a cigarette because the stress from everyday life was a troubling _ burden_. 

Their parents didn’t know. Clearly. Rick knew, but didn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything. He doesn’t care about _ him. _

He took another long drag at that realization. There were thick, bloody lines soaking in blood on top of bruises where he hit himself. The symmetry, it needed to be equal on both sides of his body. No one notices how asymmetrical their frame is until it becomes an issue. And this was an _ issue. _

His teeth, twisted. His eyes, crooked. He was the son of his new father, and all the fuck up’s he’s done. 

Morty looked down at the knife in hand. Yes.

Yes…

This would do. 

But where are the _ pliers? _

  
  
  
  


Garage. 

This was a divine thought. A blessing. The need to go through with it was driving him mad. And this moment of clarity would be considered as a fit of madness to most. But this was his _ calling._

This is God’s design.

He shakily got up, trembling as his faith was stronger than his frame. He stumbled to his dad’s sacred space, fumbling around in the mess until he reached his state of almost perfection. 

Aha.

There it was! 

He looked around, noticing how a blood trail followed him from the kitchen. 

Whatever.

Excitement. Excitement!

His facial features twitched into a smirk.

_ Here we go! _

This was Mary’s instructions.

This is what his Father wants.

To be clean. To be perfect. Just like Him.

Without hesitation, he peeled back his lips and placed the pliers into his mouth. Morty’s breath was trembling as were his hands, he knew this would hurt, but he held onto his front tooth with an iron grip. This was it. This was it!

_ How exciting! _

His palms were clammy, head dizzy with adrenaline. Morty’s grip was firm, and with the force of an angel, he twisted. He twisted and pulled **hard** and **fast**.

But it wasn’t enough. His tooth was knocked loose, yes, but it was hanging on by threads. It was his first try, he had to give himself credit for that.

So again. He pulled. He pulled and plucked the nerves, and in delight, he beheld his tooth in front of him.

_ How magnificent! _

With this great idea, his vision turned a shade of red as blood dribbled from his mouth, past his trembling bottom lip and onto the ground in a small pool. His knees knocked, his frame jerked as he wailed. The screaming turned into a laughing fit as he put the pliers back into his mouth, the other front tooth. Metal scraping exposed bone. And then a firm grasp. He was getting the hang of it. 

Nerves in his mouth were left in the open as he twisted and pulled his way towards personal salvation. Morty gurgled on his own blood, falling to his knees as he spit it up, bile rising in his throat as he vomited. And he cried. He was in a cold sweat, _ this is what it is to be human! _

Pain struck into his head like a demon with a shotgun. He was on fire. His face was on fire his mouth was on FIRE and he found delight in his actions for the first time since childbirth. 

Now his canines have to go. And his four bottom teeth. But hey, let’s take a break from that for a bit. You deserve it. 

How about we get the dirt out from underneath those fingernails? Because trimming them is **not enough**.

Head pounding and vision blurry, he didn’t know how, he couldn’t comprehend, but he stood up. Morty stumbled to the desk in front of him, pliers in hand. He slammed his fist down on the wood, eyes gleaming in delight and power. He felt powerful.

He is, powerful.

He shakily lined up the pliers, stomach turning as vomit and blood dripped down his mouth and onto his neck and shirt. And he pulled. Slowly. Methodically. Slowly, slowly, and lovely, lovely. He watched as his index finger nail broke from his cuticle with a sickening sound. Like a clicking noise. A soft crunch. And then, he ripped it back, blood spurting from his finger in a messy display despite his precision. 

He’s holding onto what he knows. And what he knows, he must let go. 

There was dirt underneath his ring finger and pinky on his left hand. His right hand, immaculate in cleanliness. But the _ symmetry_. It has to be.

It has to be. Perfect. 

With ocd, it’s an odd array of aha moments. The pressure has to be equal, of course. But if you can’t make it perfect, you improvise. And this, he needed to improvise. 

So after carefully removing the last two fingernails with a sickening click, he decided that he needed to cut off some pesky fingers on his opposite hand.

But, Morty decided to take a break. 

Let’s focus on the eyes.

The kitchen knife was on the desk, covered in blood. His tool of choice.

He gripped it, shaking, _ shaking. _ Entertain my faith! Morty lined the blade up to his right eye, exhaled stuttering as he saw **for the last time.**

Vomit bubbled in his mouth, seeping past his lips as he inhaled and exhaled heavily through his nostrils. He swallowed hard, then pushed. He went far back, and back, until he felt scraping in his socket as he teased his skull. Like at the doctor's office when they’re cleaning your teeth, there’s this scribbling sound in your head as they toy with your jaw with sharp objects. There was this sickening squelch as he jabbed the knife in, and there was the sound of meat slapping the ground as he retracted the knife from his face. His prayers were schizophrenic as he realized that there was a thick chord of flesh dangling from his eye socket to the disturbed ball that fell to the ground sloppily as he poked and picked at it. 

The meat hanging on from his socket was bothering him, so he took the knife, then the tail end of the flesh, and cut it haphazardly in the middle. It made wet sounds, the skin juice and meat puss dripping with copper blood and like an engorged tick, he wanted more. 

Morty couldn’t tell if he was screaming anymore.

He was weeping blood, sweating the substance. He took the knife and blindly hacked at his imperfect hand until there was exposed finger bones and squirting blood making its biblical exodus through his hand. Looking at the bone, the bone, it was exposed, exposed! Sensitive, like nerves beneath your strong jaw, connecting teeth. 

His index finger, he drew on the concrete, scraping the exposed nerves on the hard surface, writing in blood. His finger bones scraped, scraped, scratched at the ground, the nub of what was left was being whittled down. 

And he wrote: _ “Tell our dad I’m sorry!” _

And for the first time since he was a child, he smiled as he then slowly passed away, alone. 

And he awoke from the nightmare, screaming.

  
  
  
  
  


_ Child of weakness, who do you want to be today? _

The Smiling God had caressed his most precious love in sentiment, graciously, and in His eyes, with _ mercy_. Morty’s pale cheeks were tear stained, brown eyes bloated from seeping in salt for too long. The softness in one viewing the image is agony to the one within it, the pupil beholding the prize was a dead eyed god, a film covering the whites as the black ring dilated in omnipresence. He saw all, and he passed this gift to his prophet.

And Morty took it with _ joy. _His third eye that was stitched was ripped open, the pain coming from the blazing visions of a thousand versions of himself drowning in ten thousand seas. Not the stitches being wrestled apart, manhandled with hands crafted into iron fists. 

And yet, he couldn’t see what was right in front of him. 

  
  
  
  


Discussing plans now they were discussing _ plans! _

Rick and Summer, getting it done!

He wanted her to kill Jerry, and she begged him to let her pick her method of choice. But the only thing missing was _ Morty. _

He needed to be on board with it, too. So they schemed, and they schemed well. Before they fell off the grid, they needed to escape all the glowing eyes.

_ Do I want to say goodbye to all the glowing eyes? _

They stayed up til dawn, until time to get ready for school. Summer and Rick, they stayed up the whole night. Singing songs that nobody wrote. 

And Morty avoided his sister, couldn’t stand to look her in the eye. And the devil consoled her from this strife, trying to play both sides as he slept in Morty’s bed at night. He told him everything was okay, even though the child frequently cried himself to sleep during those hours. 

He tried not to think about it.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He thought about it. This whole big things turned to one big _ joke. _

Rick saw him, saw his thoughts. Summer saw them, too.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ It looks like you might be one of us. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing to say


	15. Important

Hey y’all, since I’ve got some people reading my fics I figured I could use multiple platforms to spread the message. Here’s some links to donate to support the George Floyd memorial fund. As a white person, I don’t want or expect a pat on the back for helping, nor should anyone else that’s helping that’s white. This is what we should be doing anyways. 

https://twitter.com/elirymagee/status/1267095086682091526?s=21

I’m not one to get into discourse, but I fully support the protesters and I support the BLM movement and taking the knee. I’m not privileged in a lot of aspects, but having white skin is such a privilege people take for granted. Go out there and protest, wear masks, cover tattoos, and support black people where you can. White folks are quick to say that black people have a chip on their shoulder from slavery, then turn around and say “9/11, never forget”. If violence is never the answer than why do the police and government use it so much?

To white people attending protests: if and when police show up, don’t pull out your phone and start recording. Get in between black protestors and cops. Our bodies and our privilege are our greatest tools, let’s be the ally black people need us to be. Black people have every right to burn down a country they built for free.

ACAB and black lives matter ✊🏻✊🏼✊🏽✊🏾✊🏿


	16. Earth

You can break these bones of mine, but, creature I may be, I will grow back together. That’s as much as a promise as it is a threat. Don’t trust anyone, because they don’t deserve it. Here’s a lesson on growing up: make a point to be powerful when you speak, and never compromise what you feel is right.

He will not divide us!

The world tried to bury us, but forgot that we were seeds. We meet the heavens in a sloppy kiss as we grow up together in a group of weeds. We are savants at living, and being a nuisance to the people trying to silence us. We’re still guna try. We’re still guna carry on. 

**Expect us!**

  
  
  
  
  
  


my family is so scared

my mommy doesn’t even recognize me

my teeth ache as my wrists bleed, and my soul begins to sing as they say:

_ EXORCIZO, te, immundissime spiritus, omnis incursio adversarii, omne phantasma, omnis legio! _

_ i told them i was sick why the fuck they ain’t listen _

_ "I heard this wild, idiotic, diabolical laughter.” _

** _i told them i was SICK why the FUCK THEY AIN’T LISTEN_ **

  
  


_ Hail Mary full of grace _

  
  


** _why won’t he fly on a plane with me?_ **

  
  
  


** _I̵̮̊͘͜n̵̝̦̅ ̸̪̀ț̵̢̆h̸̹̓̿ȅ̷̩͇s̶͕̚é̷͎̬ ̵̧͙͗n̷̘̲̎͝o̷̻͆͜c̶̖̄t̷̫̘̀̓ủ̶̻͘r̷̡̝̒̉n̶̨͛ḁ̴̭̄l̸̰͐̍ ̵̛͇e̷̬̮̾͒p̵̨͎͂͑i̶̫͎͋s̵͕͗o̶̠̒̓d̴͕̮͛͒ë̸̢́͗s̴̳̝͌ ̷̼̮͂͆(̴̲̫̓̈t̴̩̑h̴̖̜̾̚ȩ̸̑ ̵̻́̏b̵̞̀o̵͔͚̐y̶̙̽̈'̶͉́s̷̪̈ ̵͍̲̆ḅ̴̈́̋i̸̮̓ͅz̷̺̓̈ḁ̴̂̏r̶̘͚̋r̶͉̃ͅë̵̝͈́ ̶͆͜b̶̧̗͋͆ḛ̷̮͠h̶̪̩̋̈́ā̴͉̳v̶̭̐i̶̖͠ô̴̤̰r̶͙͈̄ ̸̨̨̛̍o̵̬͒͘c̴̩̭̊c̶̪̮̐u̶͘ͅŕ̸̰r̸͉͗̚e̸̝̿̑ͅd̸͕̄̇ ̷̟̽́m̵̭̭̋o̵̢͂̋s̷͓̳̐̒t̶̮̾̚l̷͈͙̐̕y̶̢̺̆̇ ̷̡̪̅a̸̝͖̎t̵̹͙͠ ̶͖́n̴̰̼̍ḭ̸̦͒ḡ̶̹̝h̴͓͋́t̵̢͆̓)̸̺̞́̾,̷̼̟̌̍ ̷̼̆h̸̫͐e̵̢̽ ̴̭͚̔̎w̸̹̤̄̒o̴̬̗̿̽ù̶̺̇l̷̜̂͜͠d̷̜̀ ̵͇͆̍s̶̗͊ų̴̺́p̶̥̾̄p̶̬̲̓o̶͔͊͋s̷̥̀͂e̶̻̜͐d̸̘̟̿͠l̸͎̫̀y̶͙͗̽ ̶̗͠b̵̫̪̔́e̶̮̓̿č̶͉̐ō̴̤͍m̷̩͑̋e̵̫͠ ̷̡͔͆̋ì̵̻ñ̸̥c̷̙̙̉ř̵̩e̷̓̃͜d̸̬̝̕ǐ̷̭̿b̸̰̔̉l̷̥͚͑̈́ỳ̴̟̦̚ ̵͎͋s̶̫͐̔t̵̙̎̂r̷͔͚̎o̵̯͚̽̔ṉ̵͈̋̈́ğ̴̲,̸̊͜ ̷̜̟̿̍h̵̖̾i̶̺̇̃ͅs̵͎͒ ̴͎̓b̸̭͐̑͜o̵͙̪͂d̵̻͐ͅy̸̟̮̓ ̵̨̿d̴̺̫͝i̴̭̙̓ŝ̵̭̳̋t̸͚̳̕͠ò̷̯͜r̸͔̗͌͆t̴͚̣̐i̵̫̘͋̀n̶̜̱̐g̵͕̉͌ ̴̔́͜a̶͓̔̿n̸̰͘d̵͎̫͆ ̶͊̆ͅt̵͇̼͗r̵̠̍͝ả̷̳̭n̸̩̆͝ṡ̴͕̆f̶̪̣͋̇ö̵̥̾r̷̰͊͝m̶̮͝i̵̘̇n̸͇͐͊ğ̴͙̥,̶̖̎ ̸̥̩̎͝ḧ̷̺́e̴͇̒e̶͇̣̓͑l̶̲̻͆s̶̩̿͐ ̵̖̥̍͊t̸̟̚o̶̮͐ͅṵ̴̈́̚c̶̢̡͛h̴̳͗̀͜į̴͒n̵̖̈́͂g̶̢͇̋̓ ̴̲̽͠t̴̺̆ẖ̵̑ė̴̟͎ ̵̻͔͑b̵̨̪̓ả̴̺c̴̫̼͐̏ḵ̸̫͆ ̴̨͒̚ȯ̶̹̪f̴̥̓ ̶̫̓͝h̸̲̓͝i̵̫̭͊s̵̱̙̆́ ̶͇̆ḥ̴̂͝e̴̝͖͌a̴̲͚̾́d̷̦̅͗,̶̘͑ ̵͎̅t̸̤̓͒h̷̫̍é̷̩̿ ̴͔̬̌b̷̩͑̉ͅo̵͈̊̕d̷̬̳̐̕ỵ̸̡̊ ̸̺̒f̸̭̂͌o̷̖̝͝r̸̥̹̊͘m̷̪̑̿͜i̶͆ͅn̸͎̍͗g̵͕̒͛ ̶͚́a̴̲̹͛̕ ̴̨̖̑ḽ̶̼̓o̴̺̻̓͘o̴̓͂ͅp̴̱̏ͅ ̷͕̘̒-̷̠̤̍ ̸̛̫͐a̶̯͐l̸̡͆l̸̩̟͌͠ ̸̯̲̎̈r̴̫̽̌e̴͙̒p̷̣̏ó̵̝ŗ̸̓t̶̰͕̑́e̷͖̺͆̚d̵̼͑̍ ̷̣̕b̸͔̗̏͝y̴̰͓̿ ̵̣̅͠p̸̬̌r̷̢͝ǐ̷͎̣̔ě̸̽ͅs̸̺̬̋ţ̶̻͛̉s̶̗͑̆ ̵̞̎ẃ̸̟̼͋h̸̠͇͐ǫ̸̂̊ ̶̣͎̀̚w̸̫̉͘e̸͖̿r̷̺͑͠ͅḙ̴̩̓ ̸̻̋w̸͖̉̊ỉ̶̘t̵̩̞͗̕n̷̫̪͗ė̴̹̲s̵̞̖̆s̶̩̃ȩ̶͐s̷͖̊.̷̡͖̒̽_ **

  
  
  


July 29th,1997: A good day for the devil

  
  
  


And I never knew I was a sadist until I was 20. Everything added up too much and my memories that couldn’t be saved were presented and laid out on the table like supper. I just want to converse with my creator, so I can finally choose to hate him or to love him. I’m so tired of living in fear, walking on eggshells, perhaps Jesus really did work with Beelzebub. Because I feel no good god here.

Other than me.

Genesis never stops nor sleeps, as our gods continue shaping us. Sometimes they take on the form of our won skin, adopt our names, and wrestle with our lovely hearts. Pinning our wrists so we can’t fight, they lean down and ask what happened for humans to lose our faith in them. I say that I don’t know. We look at each other, and we’re simply haunted. 

They kiss my lips over and over, and I say, “Doesn't it weigh heavy on your heart? What I've done to you?”

And they reply:

“The only thing that weighs heavy is that I couldn’t hold you.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


If only I could hug you back then and tell that everything's alright.

  
  
  
  
  


Morty was convinced that there was an ocean inside of him, because every time he woke up, he woke up with tear stains on his pillow. The elements reside within the human, as the human resides in the space above. But the fire burned him to the touch, the air left his lungs, the earth buried him as water in the form of tears sadly nourished the flowers over his grave. 

He was in a cold sweat from the nightmare, the boy’s thin frame shuddering as he pulled up the covers. The truth is, I don’t know what to say anymore. He jumped subtly as he felt an arm wrap around him, the devil’s chest pressing against his back. Morty immediately relaxed, his shaking frame stilled, and he felt more at ease.

He heard Rick speaking softly, an incantation, and he fell into deep sleep immediately. 

  
  
  
  


Azlyn never forgot. So he crept into Summer’s room that night, the girl still awake, face illuminated from the laptop screen as she worked online. He watched her quietly for a while until she looked up and yelped, his glowing white eyes staring back at her hazel ones. And he explained to her who he really was.

  
  
  
  


_ My name is Azlyn _

I won’t conform to what I see in you

_ He’s lied to you again _

I won’t surrender what I am 

_ Where is the shame that will bring your soul back? _

Not I 

_ The void you suffer is a curse forever bleeding inside _

If I close my eyes the light can’t take it away 

_ Now you embrace the fatal sickness you should despise _

**Not I **

  
  
  
  
  


He couldn’t corrupt her or persuade her. So Azlyn took it upon himself to tell her father. In a dream, he spoke in a chorus of angelic voices, as the beast was fallen, but never wasted his throat by cursing the Father.

And Jerry woke up in a blind rage, dragging Summer by the hair and throwing her to the floor as she wailed. I’ve stopped eating from stress. This of course woke up Morty, who ran into her sisters room to defend her. 

  
  


In the beginning, there was an exodus of mass that burst across the virgin universe, forming planets and stars that were governed by no one but Themselves. Time had passed as They developed a mother tongue that was understood by all. And it was simply understood. 

The planets, They desired children. So from the depths of Their hearts, past the sub zero tundra, over the frozen lakes, beneath the rushing sand and red cold rivers, They created their first helpers. The gods. They came from the elements in which were provided. 

Each planet and star represents a core personality. The Sun, loyalty. Mars, strength, Jupiter, patience. Neptune, understanding. 

And the Earth, which represents wisdom. 

And the Earth said unto a young Yahweh, help me form my terrain, help me divide the land, help me raise my children.

And He did.

From the elements, He created humans. Each unique in their own way. From Scandinavia, he created the People from snow, cranberries, blood, and mud. From the Middle East, he formed them of sand, soil, void, and stardust. From Asia, he created them from peaches, heart, dew drops, and young leaves. These are just a few examples.

From these People, they created more, as they gathered a new intelligence. For humans were not created in God's image, but their own, as we created Yahweh in ours. And the Earth said, this is good. 

And she gifted Yahweh his Heaven as a thank you.

Never lonely, ever lovely, the planets create music. They sing to each other, and our souls sing back. You are never alone. You could crawl to the most desolate part of space, but the void would sing to your soul, 

and your soul would sing back. 

Those who incarnate on Earth come to learn the hardest lessons, because if you seek truth, you will find it, always. The most powerful and influential beings come from this planet. It is no mistake that you are here. And if you yearn for your home amongst the stars, please accept, and please forgive, your purpose for residing among us. 

Humans live such short lives, and that’s what makes it so special. The beings that come from other planets, they live long, and when they pass on, they leave a crystal behind. This crystal is bestowed upon the most precious love they have in their life. A parent, a sibling, a lover, a best friend. Their passing is all but a loss, and when you nurture the crystal, when you make it lovely, they’re ready to come back, and continue the next phase of life.

Death is not a finality. It is a “I’ll see you later!”

It is a celebration. 

I am no god, nor an oracle of one, I am here to teach what I have learned. 

  
  


Morty threw punches in an effort so inane, and Rick stood in the doorway, witnessing this. Summer was screaming, Jerry was cursing, Morty was trembling, and Rick was still.

_ What should I do? _

** _Nothing _ **

_ Why?! _

** _Why should I care_ **

Precious teardrops were falling from Morty and Summer’s eyes, and he wished he could collect them and nurse them back into happiness. 

That’s when he realized something. 

Summoning the hands of a fighter, words flashed in his mind, his eyes turning cold.

And his mind said unto him:

** _PROTECT MY CHILDREN_ **

He uppercutted Jerry, the man flinging like a ragdoll across the room, unconscious. He walked like a predator towards the coward, but Morty held him back, and Summer collapsed into his arms. He knelt down, children smothering him, and he closed his eyes, holding them close.

“You’re safe.” He rasped through gnashing teeth. 

“You’re safe with me.”

The two children were speechless as they cried, clinging onto him, the devil paternal. Heart stirred and chest corrupted, he held them impossibly closer, trembling and honest.

_ “Please don’t let me go, I desperately need you.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it’s been like a month updating! i’ve been hella busy and goin through personal stuff. i hope you guys liked this 🖖


	17. PRESS SPACE TO CONTINUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys. i wanted to say real quick that i’ll write this chapter more in depth, and hopefully that chapter won’t take a month to come out lmao. it’s short but it’s all i could mentally handle rn. things haven’t been good! i’ve run out of antipsychotics and i’ve been...weird without them. pleaaaaase leave comments ;0; it gives me motivation to write faster!!!!

**DEMO**

Player 1: **MORTY SMITH**

Player 2: **SUMMER SMITH**

Player 3: **RICK**

Player 4: **UNAVAILABLE **

Press SPACE to START

>> Select Character: Player 1

>> Select World: Home 

>> Press SPACE to CONFIRM

_ [Confirmed] _

[PRESS A TO ACCEPT]

[PRESS X TO DENY]

>> Are you the way you were raised?

>> A

>> Do you desire a diagnosis?

>> A

>> Would you like a cigarette?

>> A

>> Menthol? 

>> A

>> Kings?

>> X

>> 100’s?

>> A

>> Excellent. Now be completely honest with me, okay?

**SCREENING**

Signs and **symptoms** depend on the type of **dissociative disorders** you have, but may include: 

  * Memory loss (amnesia) of certain time periods, events, people and personal information. 
  * A sense of being detached from yourself and your emotions. 
  * A perception of the people and things around you as distorted and unreal
  * A blurred sense of identity
  * Significant stress or problems in your relationships, work or other important areas of your life
  * Inability to cope well with emotional or professional stress
  * Mental health problems, such as depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts and behaviors

**Dissociative amnesia**: The main symptom is memory loss that's more severe than normal forgetfulness and that can't be explained by a medical condition. You can't recall information about yourself or events and people in your life, especially from a traumatic time. Dissociative amnesia can be specific to events in a certain time, such as intense combat, or more rarely, can involve complete loss of memory about yourself. It may sometimes involve travel or confused wandering away from your life (dissociative fugue). An episode of amnesia usually occurs suddenly and may last minutes, hours, or rarely, months or years.

**Dissociative identity disorder.** Formerly known as multiple personality disorder, this disorder is characterized by "switching" to alternate identities. You may feel the presence of two or more people talking or living inside your head, and you may feel as though you're possessed by other identities. Each identity may have a unique name, personal history and characteristics, including obvious differences in voice, gender, mannerisms and even such physical qualities as the need for eyeglasses. There also are differences in how familiar each identity is with the others. People with dissociative identity disorder typically also have dissociative amnesia and often have dissociative fugue.

**Depersonalization-derealization disorder. **This involves an ongoing or episodic sense of detachment or being outside yourself — observing your actions, feelings, thoughts and self from a distance as though watching a movie (depersonalization). Other people and things around you may feel detached and foggy or dreamlike, time may be slowed down or sped up, and the world may seem unreal (derealization). You may experience depersonalization, derealization or both. Symptoms, which can be profoundly distressing, may last only a few moments or come and go over many years.

>> Make sense?

>> ___

_ Continue? _

>> A

>> You go over to your father’s unconscious body. You peer down at his empty face. What do you do?

A: Pray for him

X: Leave the room

>> X

>> Mom locked herself in her and Jerry’s room. Do you enter to check up on her?

A: Yes

X: No

>> X

>> You walk into the kitchen with Summer and Rick trailing behind you. They’re talking amongst themselves quietly. Do you -

A: Threaten all their plans?

X: I’m insignificant 

>> X

>> Rick suggests a knife, Summer suggests strangulation. Two very personal ways to kill.

A: Tell them to stop talking

X: Listen closely 

>> X

>> They look at you with expectancy. Offer up another solution?

A: Waterboarding 

X: Bury him alive 

>> ?v?m”;;

>> The two of them look at you in concern. Jerry will wake up soon. Do you -

A: Lock yourself in your room?

X: Run to the church and hide? 

>> X

>> Rick complains but ends up agreeing. He holds yours and Summer’s hands, says strange words, and there’s red light around you. You feel nauseous. 

A: Open your eyes you didn’t know we’re closed

X: Hold onto his hand tighter 

>> A

>> The three of you are at the church. You look over at Rick, who looks pale and in pain. He says nothing. Do you -

A: Comfort him?

X: Say nothing 

>> A

>> Rick flinches when you touch his arm. His breathing is shallow and you’re worried, but assume he can take care of himself.

A: Stick close with the others 

X: Look around 

>> A

>> Typical.

>> You remember the blood bond between you and Rick. This makes you flustered, thus blushing. You say nothing as you turn away from the others.

>> Rick barks your name, and you spin around. He motions to come closer, eyes bleeding red. He doesn’t have much time left to stay in the church. You come over quickly.

A: Offer up blood to heal Rick?

X: Do nothing 

>> A

>> Both of them look surprised at the suggestion, but Rick declines. He’s too proud. 

**PLAYER 3 - RICK: HP//20**

>> Summer makes a joke about Rick not lasting long. Rick emits a cynical laugh in return. The two smile at each other as the devil wipes the blood from his eyes. 

>> Summer mentions Azlyn, and Rick grinds his teeth. He starts explaining things quietly, you walk away to give them space. You hear the sound of a slap to the face after a few minutes, then the rustling of two bodies as they hug. 

>> You smile. It doesn’t last long as you see a silhouette at the main doors of the church.

A: Run

X: RUN

>> X

Jerry kicks open the door, Rick’s form is exposed as he is on holy ground. Your father is almost foaming at the mouth as he sees his children with a demon. Do you -

A: Beg for forgiveness?

X: Lay down and take the beating?

**WHY DON’T YOU CHOOSE FOR YOURSELF?**

  
  
  
  
  


>> There is nothing in me that you can take away 

A: Sing for the children shooting the children 

X: Sing for the teachers who told you that you couldn’t sing 

__: Reaching out for the hand of god and realizing that you’re shaking your own


	18. Stolas

I am god’s deadliest mistake and the price he pays for the earth he birthed out of flowers and mud. I am his ever evolving genesis that never ceases as he keeps shaping me and my future to the Revelations of my end. I am the flame that guides us home. I am the love forgotten. I am wasting my throat as I pray to the Father.

I am that I am. 

They pray to me and they say:

_ Dread is he _

_ Amid the lowest levels _

_ Born to rise from the depths _

_ But struggling with each devil _

I will not yield to men or lower my voice. I am hurt, I bang on my chest, my heart’s on fire tonight. I am a warrior of the light, I make people holy through my love. 

But where is the shame that will bring my soul back?

In the night, I can hear them talk. I will wake up in the morning and wash my hands. I will get it right. I will be perfect. I check the nails and the dirt that resides beneath them, and I think about plucking them off one by one. The clicking sound of the pliers slowly and methodically pulling the nails speaks to me on a level that I can understand with my feelings as it tells me no words. But with perfect pictures in my head, I see the blood, and the liquid transfers to my eyes as copper turns to salt, and I cry. 

And I welcome the tears as they’re purified. I usher them in with my eyelashes as I close my eyes tight. 

_ ….just don’t think about it…. _

_ ………. _

_ ….. _

_ … _

So, it seems like my story might come to a close soon. Or will it? I’m just as clueless as you all. Could we ever know anything and trust it? And does a man believe in anything fully? There’s so many loose ends to tie up, so..

But what has this story proved? That it’s formatted differently than the others. And what if I never tied those ends? Would it make you angry? Or would you say, oh, that’s so _ him! _ So _ unique…_!

It would be..satisfying to complete what I have left unsaid. But life isn’t always satisfying. And they might say, “he’s moving too fast!” or “he’s moving too slow!” 

And to that I say, hindert hayzer zol er hobn, in yeder hoyz a hindert tsimern, in yeder tsimer tsvonsik betn un kadukhes zol im varfn fin eyn bet in der tsveyter.

I say that to prove we’re in hell. 

I ask you if you want to be born again. You say no. That’s the last thing you’ll ever say. You vomit and defecate all over your child body multiple times as my weight pins you down and crushes you slowly. You die. And I am not punished. As no one loves a quitter. And you are a _ quitter. _

_ How embarrassing… _

No pretty words to describe the end. As the end is not to be romanticized. Get me right.

So let me test you. See if your heart rabbit thumps in your chest or you feel strangely calm. 

You take a knife, you line it up to your wrist. And you cut and you cut until the blue heart strings are shredded threads. Your nerves are exposed, tendons jutting out as it pulsates nervously, shocked to see the light of day. 

You see a man in the dark struggling to hold up a semi unconscious, inebriated woman.

You take a spoon and scoop out your eye, the metal scraping the back of your skull as you pop out the flesh with a sickening squelching noise. 

You hold a child back, grip his face with your calloused hand and force him to watch as men have their way with his mother as he cries when you say that he’s next. 

I TOLD YOU NOT TO FUCK UP AND WHAT DID YOU DO? YOU FUCKED IT ALL UP! YOU LAZY PIECE OF SHIT. I REGRET HAVING YOU!

Did your pupils dilate? Do you feel powerful? Do you feel afraid? There’s no wrong way to be human. 

Your head is bruised, your head is wide. Sing me a new song.

Sing cause it’s obvious, sing for the astronauts, sing.

Sing for the president, sing for the terrorists, sing.

Just..sing. 

You motherfuckers you sing something!

  
  
  


The horror of being human.

I’ve tricked you into reading this chapter, as there is no plot to this. But if you continue reading, that is your own choice. 

  
  
  
  


I can’t believe I’m losing myself. And everything’s changing, I can’t believe I’m losing myself.

If I were to perfectly sum up this story, it would go something like this. Woe is me, dread is he, the family you loved is now the enemy. 

What is there left to say other than filling in the words with descriptive and desperate metaphors. How fucking pretentious is the story, involuntary. Tell me. Tell me to my face so I can change it even though it’s too late. All my allies paid the price. 

Out of all the colors in the sky...why is it blue? 

Wake up Sam.

I fell asleep with my lights on last night. But why deny the color black? Khoshekh, ha sat-an, laugh it up honey it ain’t that bad. 

Is it shocking that I’m on my antipsychotics and feel normal writing this? Everyone says, they say to me, don’t kill your creativity with happy pills!

Motherfucker my best shit comes from the fucking pills. 

Cause I’m tough as nails!

_ I’m tough as nails! _

You may make fun of people who are spiritual and schizophrenic. I have very, very specific delusions, hallucinations, and genuine beliefs. There’s very few of us who hallucinate full fucking “ghosts” or “demons”. Why are my experiences valid until I tell them I’m a schizo? Ridiculous. I see black spiders, my walls moving, and pictures and words dancing when I read things. Jesus. Give me some credit. Let me be a paranormal investigator if I want! Ugh..

_ You think my story has almost 6,000 views because it’s good? No! It’s because they want to see me go insane! Well that’s my paranoia, anyways. _

The voices in my head were discussing the fundamentals of psychosis when I was trying to fall asleep. They encourage me to go to college. Sometimes they say I’m disgusting. It’s not all bad. They don’t tell me to “kill” you retard. 

I’m assuming no one is offended by that slur because if you’re reading this, you’re shitty enough to enjoy stories of incest and pedophilia. Don’t act like you’re better than that, you silly goose. (But I won’t tell you that you’re all bad people for enjoying it.) (_Wake up Sam._)

_ Yeah, we get it, you have OCD. You’re psychotic. You have multiple personality disorder. You have BPD. WE GET IT! _

This story is akin to a personal diary that I expected no one to read. Am I glad it’s been looked over? Sure. But it was bound to be misinterpreted when a stranger lays eyes upon what I’ve crafted through fits of madness. The pacing is sporadic. It makes no sense. The story structure has failed. Does it matter?

Does it truly matter?

If you’ve read to this point, I don’t know what to say. Maybe you’re just as crazy as I am. I am a sick man. But I just turned 23 and I had the best birthday of my entire life. I’ve had this crush on a girl for years and I’m still too scared to tell her. I’m left handed. My cat changed my entire world view. I have stress induced seizures. I have wild, curly hair and I’m blind in my left eye. I’m in love with a man who’s my father figure. My best friend is in a psych ward and I hope they keep him there forever. I was raised in a cult. I’m learning Japanese and Russian. I’m autistic. I sleepwalk. My dad is Icelandic but I was raised in South Carolina. 

An eye for an eye and the world goes blind. 

Vaccinate your fucking kids and don’t raise them religiously. It’s traumatizing to be told growing up that people are dying and going to hell everyday and it’s cause I didn’t save them. It hurts hearing your pastor say you’re worthless and dirty without God and you have no purpose without Him. When I was 7 I developed insomnia and stopped eating because I was so stressed that I wasn’t “saved” or good enough for God. I was raised to be a sociopath. I was raised to never ask questions and to reject feelings completely. It kept me up at night thinking that my cousin who killed himself was in purgatory and I had to pray to get him out because committing suicide is an awful “sin”. 

And you’re saying pedophilia and rape isn’t sin but lying is? You’re saying you can be the nicest, most brilliant and genuine person in the world but you’ll rot forever if you don’t believe in God? You’re saying that a child molester zoophile or a necrophiliac wife beater can go to heaven if he’s saved at the very last minute before death? 

Fucking disgusting mentality. 

God isn’t cruel. He’s just given up. 

  
  
  


...Wouldn’t you...?

  
  
  


This story is a year old, you’ve all seen how I’ve changed throughout it. You say to yourself, “Wow! He’s gotten so much worse!”

But why should I assume what you say when you can’t assume what _ I’m _saying? 

I’ll be honest for a brief moment.

  
  
  


I hate this story. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m begging y’all to leave comments ;-; or talk to me on discord! @ lucifer #0694


End file.
